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BLACK  BEAUTY 


One  of  the  horses  was  struggling  in  the  stream;  the  other  was  groaning 

on  the  grass 


BLACK  BEAUTY 

|\ 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A HORSE 


BY 

ANNA  SEWELL 

With  Introduction  by 

ALMA  B.  CALDWELL 

Illustrated  by 

EDWIN  JOHN  PRITTIE 


THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  COMPANY 

Chicago  PHILADELPHIA  Toronto 


Copyright,  1927,  by 

The  John  C.  Winston  Company 

Copyright  in  Great  Britain  and  the  British  Dominions  and  Possessions 
Copyright  in  the  Philippine  Islands 

All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED  IN  THE  U.  S.  A. 

AT  THE  INTERNATIONAL  PRESS 
The  John  C.  Winston  Compant,  Pbopb. 
Philadelphia 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  sr  xmi.  J-  PAGE 

I.  My  Early  Home 1 

II.  The  Hunt 5 

III.  My  Breaking  In 10 

IV.  Birtwick  Park 16 

V.  A Fair  Start 21 

VI.  Liberty 27 

VII.  Ginger 30 

VIII.  Ginger’s  Story  Continued 37 

IX.  Merrylegs.  43 

X.  A Talk  in  the  Orchard 49 

XI.  Plain  Speaking 58 

XII.  A Stormy  Day 63 

XIII.  The  Devil’s  Trademark 69 

XIV.  James  Howard 74 

XV.  The  Old  Hostler 79 

XVI.  The  Fire... 84 

XVII.  John  Manly’s  Talk 90 

XVIII.  Going  for  the  Doctor 96 

XIX.  Only  Ignorance 102 

XX.  Joe  Green 107 

XXI.  The  Parting 112 

PART  II 

XXII.  Earlshall 117 

XXIII.  A Strike  for  Liberty 123 

XXIV.  The  Lady  Anne,  or  a Runaway  Horse  128 

XXV.  Reuben  Smith 137 

V 

I 


292319 


CONTENTS 


vi 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVI.  How  It  Ended 143 

XXVII.  Ruined,  and  Going  Downhill 147 

XXVIII.  A Job  Horse  and  His  Drivers 152 

XXIX.  Cockneys 158 

XXX.  A Thief 167 

XXXI.  A Humbug 171 

PART  III 

XXXII.  A Horse  Fair 177 

XXXIIL  A London  Cab  Horse 183 

XXXIV.  An  Old  War  Horse 189 

XXXV.  Jerry  Barker 197 

XXXVI.  The  Sunday  Cab 206 

XXXVII.  The  Golden  Rule 213 

XXXVIII.  Dolly  and  a Real  Gentleman 219 

XXXIX.  Seedy  Sam 225 

XL.  Poor  Ginger 231 

XLL  The  Butcher 234 

XLII.  The  Election 239 

XLIII.  A Friend  in  Need 242 

XLIV.  Old  Captain  and  His  Successor 249 

XLV.  Jerry’s  New  Year 256 

PART  IV 

XLVI.  Jakes  and  the  Lady 265 

XLVII.  Hard  Times 271 

XLVIII.  Farmer  Thoroughgood  and  His  Grand- 
son Willie 277 

XLIX.  My  Last  Home 283 

Questions  for  Thought  and  Discussion  289 
Glossary 295 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


One  of  the  horses  was  struggling  in  the  stream; 

THE  OTHER  WAS  groaning  ON  the  grass.  .Frontispiece 

PAGE 

John  rode  me  first  slowly,  then  a trot,  then  a 


CANTER 20 

/‘The  children  did  not  know  when  they  had 

ENOUGH,  SO  I JUST  PITCHED  THEM  OFF  BACK- 
WARDS”   44 

An  oak  fell  right  across  the  road  just  before  us.  65 

James  led  me  out  of  the  stable 86 

The  carter  was  shouting  and  flogging  the  horses 

UNMERCIFULLY 106 

With  scarcely  a pause  Lizzie  took  the  leap 132 

I UTTERED  NO  SOUND,  BUT  JUST  STOOD  THERE  AND 

LISTENED 142 

Ginger  and  I neighed  to  each  other  as  I was  led 

off  by  Robert. 150 

The  farrier  examined  my  feet  one  by  one 175 

“My  dear  master  was  cheering  on  his  comrades 

WHEN  ONE  OF  THE  BALLS,  WHIZZING  CLOSE  TO  MY 

HEAD,  STRUCK  HIM” 194 

I GALLOPED  ACROSS  THE  MEADOW  OUT  OF  SHEER 

SPIRITS  AT  BEING  FREE 217 

“Just  get  into  this  cab  and  I’ll  drive  you  safe 

TO  THE  HOSPITAL,”  SAID  JERRY 245 

My  groom  began  patting  me  as  if  he  were  quite 

OVERJOYED  AT  SEEING  ME  AGAIN 286 

vii 


292313 


“Look— how  round  his  straining  throat 
Grace  and  shifting  beauty  float : 

Sinewy  strength  is  in  his  reins, 

And  the  red  blood  gallops  through  his  veins; 

Richer,  redder,  never  ran 

Through  the  boasting  heart  of  man.” 

— “ The  Blood  Horse” 

Bryan  Waller  Procter 


. i 


(viii) 


INTRODUCTION 

What  a treat  is  before  the  reader  who  is 
taking-  up  this  volume,  whether  it  be  for  the  first 
time  or  for  the  oft-repeated  reading!  It  will 
bring  forth  many  an  appreciative  thought  for 
creatures  in  the  animal  world  as  well  as  create 
more  sympathy  for  fellow  creatures. 

The  story  was  first  published  in  1887, 
having  been  written  by  the  Englishwoman, 
Anna  Sewell,  from  a sick  bed.  Her  hope  was  to 
influence  people  to  be  kind  to  animals.  She  took 
this  vivid  means  to  do  it.  If  an  animal  could  be 
gifted  with  powers  of  speech  such  as  those 
attributed  to  Black  Beauty,  he  could  hardly 
make  a more  convincing  appeal  for  kindness  at 
the  hands  of  his  human  masters.  Possibly  when 
we  come  to  understand  them  better,  the  acts 
and  sounds  of  horses  may  mean  as  much  to  us 
as  did  Black  Beauty’s  when  written  into  conver- 
sation and  story  by  Miss  Sewell.  We  enjoy, 
music,  art,  nature — all  beauty  according  to  our 
power  to  appreciate — so  when  we  become  more 
sympathetic,  more  attuned  to  meanings  as  evi- 
denced by  animals — possibly  we  may  know  what 
they  say.  We  already  often  know  how  they  feel 


IX 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


as  evidenced  by  their  acts  as  they  respond  to 
treatment  given  to  them. 

Black  Beauty’s  introduction  is  skilfully 
handled  through  his  own  story  of  himself  as  a 
colt.  He  played  with  other  colts  in  pleasant  pas- 
tures. The  good  advice  given  him  by  his  mother, 
as  occasion  demanded,  proved  a guide  to  him 
and  helped  him  to  form  habits  which  carried  him 
through  life  and  made  him  known  among  horses, 
hostlers,  and  owners  as  a fine  character.  Note 
how  the  suggestion  was  made  as  to  why  he 
should  not  kick  or  bite — because  he  was 
well-bred. 

Black  Beauty’s  first  unpleasant  contact  with 
life  was  through  observing  a hare  hunt  and  the 
English  attitude  toward  this  sport.  The  conse- 
quent death  of  a fine  young  man  and  a splendid 
horse  seemed  to  him  a high  price  to  pay  for  the 
capture  of  one  little  hare. 

The  character  qualities  evidenced  by  Black 
Beauty  and  admired  by  his  companions  he  at- 
tributes wholly  to  the  kind  and  skilful  treatment 
from  those  who  trained  him.  The  principles  of 
behavior  which  he  quotes  from  his  mother  who 
was  his  “pacemaker”  and  from  his  good  groom 
John  are  as  well  adapted  to  human  behavior  as 
to  that  of  horses.  He  used  his  ears  and  his  time 
to  a good  advantage.  It  will  interest  you  to  note 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

how  many  times  and  in  how  many  ways  Black 
Beauty  tried  to  communicate  his  feelings  to 
those  about  him.  He  did  this  by  arching  his  neck 
when  pleased  and  by  attempting  to  do  what  was 
expected  even  though  his  harness  or  trappings 
were  unfit  for  the  task.  His  fine  behavior  usually 
brought  comfortable  results. 

The  most  inspiring  part  of  this  story  is 
found  “between  the  lines,”  where  we  read  of  the 
effort  of  this  horse  to  maintain  a high  standard 
of  service  when  even  though  because  of  various 
hard  experiences  he  found  himself  “going 
downhill”  as  to  his  prowess. 

When  instead  of  the  gallant  showy  service 
he  enjoyed  while  young  he  found  himself  obliged 
to  perform  menial  tasks,  he  tried  to  keep  his 
courage  intact.  Much  was  demanded  of  him,  and 
his  story  of  how  he  met  these  demands  is  an 
inspiration  to  human  beings.  The  reader  will 
rejoice  in  the  account  of  the  good  home  with 
which  Black  Beauty  closes  his  story. 

The  story  will  never  grow  old.  No  speed 
story  of  plane  or  motor  can  rival  the  appeal  to 
the  best  in  human  nature  which  prompts  kind- 
ness to  all  dependents  and  subordinates,  whether 
man  or  beast.  No  machine  can  give  the  satisfac- 
tory intelligent  response  to  kind  treatment  that 
Black  Beauty  returned  to  associates,  whether 
human  or  animal.  Nor  can  a lifeless  mechanical 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION 


device  create  the  sympathy  and  companionship 
which  nearly  every  human  being  feels  for  the 
horse  and  the  dog. 

Many  children  who  live  in  cities  have  little 
or  no  knowledge  of  horses  or  other  animals.  This 
story  provides  them  worth-while  information 
along  these  lines. 

A happy  surprise  awaits  you  at  the  close  of 
the  story. 


PART  1 


Chapter  I 


MY  EARLY  HOME 

THE  first  place  that  I can  well  remember  was 
a pleasant  meadow  with  a pond  of  clear 
water  in  it.  Some  shady  trees  leaned  over 
it,  and  rushes  and  water  lilies  grew  at  the  deep 
end.  Over  the  hedge  on  one  side  we  looked  into 
a plowed  field,  and  on  the  other  we  looked  over 
a gate  at  our  master’s  house,  which  stood  by  the 
iroadside.  At  the  top  of  the  meadow  was  a 
grove  of  fir  trees,  and  at  the  bottom  a running 
brook,  overhung  by  a steep  bank. 

While  I was  young  I lived  upon  my  mother’s 
milk,  as  I could  not  eat  grass.  In  the  daytime 
[ ran  by  her  side,  and  at  night  I lay  down  close 
by  her.  When  it  was  hot,  we  used  to  stand  by 
the  pond  in  the  shade  of  the  trees,  and  when  it 
vas  cold,  we  had  a warm  shed  near  the  grove. 

As  soon  as  I was  old  enough  to  eat  grass, 
ny  mother  worked  in  the  daytime,  and  came 
Dack  in  the  evening. 

There  were  six  young  colts  in  the  meadow 
Desides  me.  They  were  older  than  I was;  some 
vere  nearly  as  large  as  grown-up  horses.  I used 

1 


2 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


to  run  with  them,  and  had  great  fun.  We  used 
to  gallop  all  together  round  the  field,  as  hard  as 
we  could  go.  Sometimes  the  play  was  rough, 
for  they  would  frequently  bite  and  kick,  as  well 
as  gallop. 

One  day,  when  there  was  a good  deal  of 
kicking,  my  mother  whinnied  to  me  to  come  to 
her,  and  then  she  said: 

“I  wish  you  to  pay  attention  to  what  I am 
going  to  say  to  you.  The  colts  who  live  here  are 
cart-horse  colts,  and,  of  course,  they  have  not 
learned  manners. 

“You  have  been  well-bred  and  well-born; 
your  father  has  a great  name  in  these  parts, 
and  your  grandfather  won  the  cup  two  years  at 
the  Newmarket  races.  Your  grandmother  had 
the  sweetest  temper  of  any  horse  I ever  knew, 
and  I think  you  have  never  seen  me  kick  or  bite. 
I hope  you  will  grow  up  gentle  and  good,  and 
never  learn  bad  ways.  Do  your  work  with  a 
good  will,  lift  your  feet  up  well  when  you  trot, 
and  never  bite  or  kick  even  in  play.” 

I have  never  forgotten  my  mother’s  advice; 
I knew  she  was  a wise  old  horse,  and  our  master 
thought  a great  deal  of  her.  Her  name  was 
Duchess,  but  he  called  her  Pet. 

Our  master  was  a good,  kind  man.  He  gave 
us  good  food,  good  lodging,  and  kind  words.  We 


MY  EARLY  HOME 


3 


were  all  fond  of  him,  and  my  mother  loved  him 
very  much.  When  she  saw  him  at  the  gate,  she 
would  neigh  with  joy,  and  trot  up  to  him.  He 
would  pat  and  stroke  her  and  say,  “Well,  old 
Pet,  and  how  is  your  little  Darkie?”  I was  a 
dull  black,  so  he  called  me  Darkie.  Then  he 
1 would  give  me  a piece  of  bread,  and  sometimes 
he  brought  a carrot  for  my  mother.  All  the 
i horses  would  come  to  him,  but  I think  we  were 
his  favorites.  My  mother  always  took  him  to 
I town  on  a market  day  in  a light  gig. 

We  had  a plowboy,  Dick,  who  sometimes 
came  into  our  field  to  pluck  blackberries  from 
the  hedge.  When  he  had  eaten  all  he  wanted, 
he  would  have  what  he  called  fun  with  the  colts, 
throwing  stones  and  sticks  at  them  to  make 
them  gallop.  We  did  not  much  mind  him,  for 
we  could  gallop  off;  but  sometimes  a stone  would 
hit  and  hurt  us. 

One  day  he  was  at  this  game,  and  did  not 
know  that  the  master  was  in  the  next  field,  but 
he  was  there,  watching  what  was  going  on. 
Over  the  hedge  he  jumped  in  a snap,  and  catch- 
ing Dick  by  the  arm,  he  gave  him  such  a box  on 
the  ear  as  made  him  roar  with  the  pain  and  sur- 
prise. As  soon  as  we  saw  the  master  we  trotted 
up  nearer  to  see  what  went  on. 

“Bad  boy!”  he  said,  “bad  boy!  to  chase  the 


4 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


colts.  This  is  not  the  first  time,  nor  the  second, 
but  it  shall  be  the  last.  There — take  your  money 
and  go  home;  I shall  not  want  you  on  my  farm 
again.” 

So  we  never  saw  Dick  any  more.  Old 
Daniel,  the  man  who  looked  after  the  horses, 
was  just  as  gentle  as  our  master;  so  we  were 
well  off. 


Chapter  II 
THE  HUNT 

BEFORE  I was  two  years  old  a circumstance 
> happened  which  I have  never  forgotten. 
It  was  early  in  the  spring;  there  had  been 
i little  frost  in  the  night,  and  a light  mist  still 
lung  over  the  woods  and  meadows.  We  colts 
vere  feeding  at  the  lower  part  of  the  field  when 
ve  heard,  quite  in  the  distance,  what  sounded 
ike  the  cry  of  dogs.  The  oldest  of  the  colts 
aised  his  head,  pricked  his  ears,  and  said, “There 
ire  the  hounds!”  and  immediately  cantered  off, 
bllowed  by  the  rest  of  us,  to  the  upper  part  of 
he  field,  where  we  could  look  over  the  hedge 
.nd  see  several  fields  beyond.  My  mother  and 
,n  old  riding  horse  of  our  master’s  were  also 
tanding  near,  and  seemed  to  know  all  about  it. 

“They  have  found  a hare,”  said  my  mother, 
and  if  they  come  this  way  we  shall  see  the 
unt.” 

Soon  the  dogs  were  all  tearing  down  the 
eld  of  young  wheat  next  to  ours.  I never  heard 
tich  a noise  as  they  made.  They  did  not  bark, 

or  howl,  nor  whine,  but  kept  on  a “Yo!  yo,  o,  o! 
2 5 


6 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


Yo!  yo,  o,  o!”  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  Afte: 
them  came  a number  of  men  on  horseback,  al 
galloping  as  fast  as  they  could. 

The  old  horses  snorted  and  looked  eagerl; 
after  them,  and  we  young  colts  wanted  to  b» 
galloping  with  them  but  they  were  soon  awa; 
into  the  fields  lower  down;  here  it  seemed  as  i 
they  had  come  to  a stand;  the  dogs  left  off  bark 
ing  and  ran  about  every  way  with  their  nose 
to  the  ground. 

“They  have  lost  the  scent,”  said  the  ol< 
horse,  “perhaps  the  hare  will  get  off.” 

“What  hare?”  I said. 

“Oh,  I don’t  know  what  hare;  likely  enoug 
it  may  be  one  of  our  own  hares  out  of  the  woods 
Any  hare  they  can  find  will  do  for  the  dogs  an 
men  to  run  after.” 

Before  long  the  dogs  began  their  “Yc 
yo,  o,  o!”  again,  and  back  they  came  all  togethe 
at  full  speed,  making  straight  for  our  meadow 
at  the  part  where  the  high  bank  and  hedge  ovei 
hang  the  brook. 

“Now  we  shall  see  the  hare,”  said  m 
mother;  and  just  then  a hare,  wild  with  frigh 
rushed  by  and  made  for  the  woods. 

On  came  the  dogs;  they  burst  over  th 
bank,  leaped  the  stream,  and  came  dashin 
across  the  field,  followed  by  the  huntsmen.  Si 


THE  HUNT 


7 


Dr  eight  men  leaped  their  horses  clean  over, 
llose  upon  the  dogs.  The  hare  tried  to  get 
Through  the  fence;  it  was  too  thick,  and  she 
Turned  sharp  around  to  make  for  the  road,  but 
t was  too  late;  the  dogs  were  upon  her  with 
;heir  wild  cries.  We  heard  one  shriek,  and  that 
vas  the  end  of  her.  One  of  the  huntsmen  rode 
jip  and  whipped  off  the  dogs,  who  would  soon 
lave  torn  her  to  pieces.  He  held  her  up  by  the 
eg,  torn  and  bleeding,  and  all  the  gentlemen 
ieemed  well  pleased. 

As  for  me,  I was  so  astonished  that  I did 
lot  at  first  see  what  was  going  on  by  the  brook. 

' 'i 

Vhen  I did  look,  there  was  a sad  sight,  two  fine 
iorses  were  down;  one  was  struggling  in  the 
tream,  and  the  other  was  groaning  on  the 
:rass.  One  of  the  riders  was  getting  out  of  the 
water,  covered  with  mud;  the  other  lay  quite 

tm. 

“His  neck  is  broken,”  said  my  mother. 

“And  serves  him  right,  too,”  said  one  of  the 


olts. 

I thought  the  same,  but  my  mother  did  not 
Din  with  us. 


(“Well,  no,”  she  said,  “you  must  not  say  that. 
‘Ut  though  I am  an  old  horse,  and  have  seen 
. nd  heard  a great  deal,  I never  yet  could  make 
lilt  why  men  are  so  fond  of  this  sport.  They 


i 


8 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


often  hurt  themselves,  often  spoil  good  horses, 
and  tear  up  the  fields,  and  all  for  a hare,  or  a 
fox,  or  a stag,  that  they  could  get  more  easily 
some  other  way.  However,  we  are  only  horses, 
and  don’t  know.” 

While  my  mother  was  saying  this,  we  stood 
and  looked  on.  Many  of  the  riders  had  gone  tc 
the  young  man;  but  my  master,  who  had  beer 
watching  what  was  going  on,  was  the  first  tc 
raise  him.  His  head  fell  back  and  his  arms 
hung  down,  and  everyone  looked  very  serious 
There  was  no  noise  now;  even  the  dogs  were 
quiet,  and  seemed  to  know  that  something  was 
wrong.  They  carried  him  to  our  master’s  house 
I heard  afterwards  that  it  was  young  George 
Gordon,  the  Squire’s  only  son,  a fine,  tall  youns 
man,  and  the  pride  of  his  family. 

They  were  now  riding  in  all  directions— 
to  the  doctor’s,  to  the  farrier’s,  and  to  Squire 
Gordon’s,  to  let  him  know  about  his  son.  Whei 
the  farrier  looked  at  the  black  horse  that  la: 
groaning  on  the  grass,  he  felt  him  all  over,  ane 
shook  his  head;  one  of  his  legs  was  broken 
Then  someone  ran  to  our  master’s  house  an< 
came  back  with  a gun;  presently  there  was  ; 
loud  bang  and  a dreadful  shriek,  and  then  al 
was  still.  The  black  horse  moved  no  more. 

My  mother  seemed  much  troubled;  she  sai< 


THE  HUNT 


9 


she  had  known  that  horse  for  years,  and  that 
pis  name  was  Rob  Roy.  He  was  a good  horse, 
md  there  was  no  vice  in  him.  She  never  would 
*0  to  that  part  of  the  field  afterwards. 

Not  many  days  after,  we  heard  the  church 
Dell  tolling  for  a long  time,  and  looking  over  the 
?ate,  we  saw  a long  strange  coach  covered  with 
plack  cloth  and  drawn  by  black  horses;  after 
;hat  came  another  and  another  and  another,  and 
ill  were  black,  while  the  bell  kept  tolling,  toll- 
:ng.  They  were  carrying  young  Gordon  to  the 
hurchyard  to  bury  him.  He  would  never  ride 
tgain.  What  they  did  with  Rob  Roy  I never 
mew;  but  ’twas  all  for  one  little  hare. 


Chapter  III 
MY  BREAKING  IN 

I WAS  now  beginning  to  grow  handsome,  my 
coat  had  grown  fine  and  soft,  and  was  bright 
black.  I had  one  white  foot  and  a pretty  i 
white  star  on  my  forehead.  My  master  would 
not  sell  me  till  I was  four  years  old;  he  said  lads 
ought  not  to  work  like  men,  and  colts  ought  not 
to  work  like  horses  till  they  were  quite  grown  up. 

When  I was  four  years  old,  Squire  Gordon 
came  to  look  at  me.  He  examined  my  eyes,  my 
mouth,  and  my  legs;  he  felt  them  all  down,  and 
then  I had  to  walk  and  trot  and  gallop  before 
him.  He  seemed  to  like  me,  and  said,  “When  he 
has  been  well  broken  in,  he  will  do  very  well/l 
My  master  said  he  would  break  me  in  himself, 
as  he  should  not  like  me  to  be  frightened  or 
hurt,  and  he  lost  no  time  about  it,  for  the  next 
day  he  began. 

Everyone  may  not  know  what  breaking  in 
is,  therefore  I will  describe  it.  It  means  tc 
teach  a horse  to  wear  a saddle  and  bridle,  and 
to  carry  on  his  back  a man,  woman,  or  child; 
to  go  just  the  way  his  rider  wishes,  and  to  go 

10 


MY  BREAKING  IN 


11 


quietly.  Besides  this,  he  has  to  learn  to  wear 
i collar,  a crupper,  and  a breeching,  and  to 
stand  still  while  they  are  put  on;  then  to  have 
i cart  or  a chaise  fixed  behind,  so  that  he  can- 
lot  walk  or  trot  without  dragging  it  after  him; 
md  he  must  go  fast  or  slow,  just  as  his  driver 
vishes. 

He  must  never  start  at  what  he  sees,  nor 
speak  to  other  horses,  nor  bite,  nor  kick,  nor 
liave  any  will  of  his  own,  but  always  do  his  mas- 
ter’s will,  even  though  he  may  be  very  tired  or 
Ungry.  The  worst  of  all  is,  when  his  harness 
s once  on,  he  may  neither  jump  for  joy  nor  lie 
{own  for  weariness.  So  you  see  this  breaking 
n is  a great  thing. 

I had  long  been  used  to  a halter  and  a head- 
tall,  and  to  be  led  about  in  the  fields  and  lanes 
[uietly,  but  now  I was  to  have  a bit  and  bridle. 
/Iy  master  gave  me  some  oats  as  usual,  and 
Iter  a good  deal  of  coaxing  he  got  the  bit  into 
iy  mouth  and  the  bridle  fixed,  but  it  was  a nasty 
hing. 

Those  who  have  never  had  a bit  in  their 
Souths  cannot  think  how  badly  it  feels.  A 
Teat  piece  of  cold,  hard  steel  as  thick  as  a man’s 
1 nger  is  pushed  into  one’s  mouth,  between  one’s 
I peth,  and  over  one’s  tongue,  with  the  ends  com- 
l ig  out  at  the  corners  of  your  mouth,  and  held 


12 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


fast  there  by  straps  over  your  head,  under  your 
throat,  round  your  nose,  and  under  your  chin, 
so  that  no  way  in  the  world  can  you  get  rid  of 
the  nasty,  hard  thing.  It  is  very  bad!  At  least 
I thought  so;  but  I knew  my  mother  always  wore 
one  when  she  went  out,  and  so,  what  with  the 
nice  oats,  and  what  with  my  master’s  pats,  kind 
words,  and  gentle  ways,  I learned  to  wear  my 
bit  and  bridle. 

Next  came  the  saddle,  but  that  was  not 
half  so  bad.  My  master  put  it  on  my  back  very 
gently,  while  old  Daniel  held  my  head.  He  then 
made  the  girths  fast  under  my  body,  patting 
and  talking  to  me  all  the  time.  Then  I had  a 
few  oats,  then  a little  leading  about;  and  this  he 
did  every  day  till  I began  to  look  for  the  oats 
and  the  saddle.  At  length,  one  morning,  my 
master  got  on  my  back  and  rode  me  around  the 
meadow  on  the  soft  grass.  It  certainly  did  feel 
queer;  but  I must  say  I felt  rather  proud  to 
carry  my  master,  and  as  he  continued  to  ride 
me  a little  every  day,  I soon  became  accustomed 
to  it. 

The  next  unpleasant  business  was  putting 
on  the  iron  shoes;  that  too  was  very  hard  at 
first.  My  master  went  with  me  to  the  smith’s 
forge,  to  see  that  I was  not  hurt  or  got  any 
fright.  The  blacksmith  took  my  feet  in  his  hand 


MY  BREAKING  IN 


13 


one  after  the  other,  and  cut  away  some  of  the 
hoof.  It  did  not  pain  me,  so  I stood  still  on  three 
legs  until  he  had  done  them  all.  Then  he  took 
a piece  of  iron  the  shape  of  my  foot,  and  clapped 
it  on,  and  drove  some  nails  through  the  shoe 
quite  into  my  hoof,  so  that  the  shoe  was  firmly 
on.  My  feet  felt  very  stiff,  and  heavy,  but  I got 
used  to  it. 

And  now  having  got  so  far,  my  master  went 
on  to  break  me  to  harness;  there  were  more  new 
things  to  wear.  First,  a stiff,  heavy  collar  was 
placed  on  my  neck,  and  a bridle  with  great  side- 
pieces,  called  blinkers,  against  my  eyes;  and 
blinkers  indeed  they  were,  for  I could  not  see  on 
either  side,  but  only  straight  in  front  of  me. 
Next  there  was  a small  saddle  with  a nasty  stiff 
strap  that  went  right  under  my  tail;  that  was 
the  crupper.  I hated  the  crupper — to  have  my 
long  tail  doubled  up  and  poked  through  that 
strap  was  almost  as  bad  as  the  bit.  I felt  like 
kicking,  but  of  course  I could  not  kick  such  a 
!?ood  master,  and  so  in  time  I got  used  to  every- 
thing, and  could  do  my  work  as  well  as  my 
mother. 

I must  not  forget  to  mention  one  part  of 
my  training,  which  I have  always  considered  a 
zery  great  advantage.  My  master  sent  me  for 

i fortnight  to  a neighboring  farmer’s,  who  had 

- 

I 


14 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


a meadow  which  was  skirted  on  one  side  by  the 
railway.  Here  were  some  sheep  and  cows,  and 
I was  turned  in  among  them. 

I shall  never  forget  the  first  train  that  ran 
by.  I was  feeding  quietly  near  the  pales  which 
separated  the  meadow  from  the  railway,  when 
I heard  a strange  sound  at  a distance,  and  before 
I knew  whence  it  came,  with  a rush  and  a clat- 
ter, and  a puffing  out  of  smoke,  a long  black 
train  of  something  flew  by,  and  was  gone  almost 
before  I could  draw  my  breath.  I turned  and 
galloped  to  the  farther  side  of  the  meadow  as 
fast  as  I could  go,  and  there  I stood  snorting 
with  astonishment  and  fear. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  many  other  trains 
went  by,  some  more  slowly;  these  drew  up  at 
the  station  close  by,  and  sometimes  made  an 
awful  shriek  and  groan  before  they  stopped.  I 
thought  it  very  dreadful,  but  the  cows  went  on 
eating  very  quietly,  and  hardly  raised  their 
heads  as  the  black,  frightful  thing  came  puffing 
and  grinding  past.  For  the  first  few  days  I 
could  not  feed  in  peace;  but  as  I found  that  this 
terrible  creature  never  came  into  the  field,  or 
did  me  any  harm,  I began  to  disregard  it  and 
very  soon  I cared  as  little  about  the  passing 
train  as  the  cows  and  sheep  did. 

Since  then  I have  seen  many  horses  much 


MY  BREAKING  IN 


15 


alarmed  and  restive  at  the  sight  or  sound  of  a 
steam  engine;  but,  thanks  to  my  good  master’s 
care,  I am  as  fearless  at  railway  stations  as  in 
my  own  stable. 

Now  if  anyone  wants  to  break  in  a young 
horse  well,  that  is  the  way. 

My  master  often  drove  me  in  double  har- 
ness, with  my  mother,  because  she  was  steady 
and  could  teach  me  how  to  go  better  than  a 
strange  horse.  She  told  me  the  better  I behaved 
the  better  I should  be  treated,  and  that  it  was 
wisest  always  to  do  my  best  to  please  my  master. 

“But,”  said  she,  “there  are  a great  many 
kinds  of  men,  there  are  good,  thoughtful  men, 
like  our  master,  that  any  horse  may  be  proud  to 
serve;  and  there  are  cruel  men,  who  never  ought 
to  have  a horse  or  a dog  to  call  their  own. 
Besides,  there  are  a great  many  foolish  men, 
ignorant  and  careless,  who  never  trouble  them- 
selves to  think.  These  spoil  more  good  horses 
than  all,  just  for  want  of  sense;  they  don’t  mean 
it,  but  they  do  it  for  all  that.  I hope  you  will 
fall  into  good  hands;  but  a horse  never  knows 
who  may  buy  him,  or  who  may  drive  him;  it  is 
all  a chance  for  us.  But  do  your  best  wherever 
it  is,  and  keep  up  your  good  name.” 


Chapter  IV 
BIRTWICK  PARK 


AT  THIS  time  I used  to  stand  in  the  stable, 
L and  my  coat  was  brushed  every  day  till  it 
shone  like  a rook’s  wing.  It  was  early  in 
May,  when  there  came  a man  from  Squire  Gor- 
don’s, who  took  me  away  to  the  Hall.  My  mas- 
ter said,  “Good-by,  Darkie,  be  a good  horse  and 
always  do  your  best.” 

I could  not  say  “Good-by,”  so  I put  my 
nose  in  his  hand;  he  patted  me  kindly,  and  I left 
my  first  home.  As  I lived  some  years  with 
Squire  Gordon  I may  as  well  tell  something 
about  the  place. 

Squire  Gordon’s  park  skirted  the  village  of 
Birtwick.  It  was  entered  by  a large  iron  gate, 
at  which  stood  the  first  lodge;  and  then  you 
trotted  along  on  a smooth  road  between  clumps 
of  large  old  trees.  After  that  came  another 
lodge  and  another  gate,  which  brought  you  to 
the  house  and  the  gardens.  Beyond  this  lay  the 
home  paddock,  the  old  orchard,  and  the  stables. 

There  was  accommodation  for  many  horses 
and  carriages,  but  I need  only  describe  the  stable 

16 


BIRTWICK  PARK 


17 


into  which  I was  taken.  This  was  very  roomy, 
with  four  good  stalls;  a large  swinging  window 
opened  into  the  yard,  which  made  it  pleasant  and 
airy. 

The  first  stall  was  a large,  square  one,  shut 
in  behind  with  a wooden  gate.  The  others  were 
common  stalls,  not  nearly  so  large.  It  had  a low 
rack  for  hay  and  a low  manger  for  corn.  It  was 
called  a loose  box,  because  the  horse  that  was  put 
into  it  was  not  tied  up,  but  left  loose,  to  do  as  he 
liked.  It  is  a great  thing  to  have  a loose  box. 

Into  this  fine  box  the  groom  put  me;  it  was 
clean,  sweet,  and  airy.  I never  was  in  a better 
box  than  that.  The  sides  were  not  so  high  but 
that  I could  see  all  that  went  on,  through  the 
iron  rails  that  were  at  the  top.  He  gave  me  some 
very  nice  oats,  he  patted  me,  spoke  kindly,  and 
then  went  away.  When  I had  eaten  my  oats  I 
looked  around.  In  the  stall  next  to  mine  stood  a 
little  fat,  gray  pony,  with  a thick  mane  and  tail,  a 
very  pretty  head,  and  a pert  little  nose. 

I put  my  head  up  to  the  iron  rails  at  the 
top  of  my  box  and  said,  “How  do  you  do?  What 
is  your  name?” 

He  turned  round  as  far  as  his  halter  would 
allow,  held  up  his  head,  and  said,  “My  name  is 
Merrylegs.  I am  very  handsome.  I carry  the 
young  ladies  on  my  back,  and  sometimes  I take 
our  mistress  out  in  the  low  chaise.  They  think 


18 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


a great  deal  of  me.  Are  you  going  to  live  next 
door  to  me  in  the  box?” 

“Yes,”  I said. 

“Well,  then,”  he  said,  “I  hope  you  are  good- 
tempered;  I do  not  like  anyone  next  door  who 
bites.” 

Just  then  a horse’s  head  looked  over  from 
the  stall  beyond;  the  ears  were  laid  back  and 
the  eyes  looked  rather  ill-tempered.  This  was 
a tall,  chestnut  mare,  with  a long,  handsome 
neck;  she  looked  across  to  me  and  said: 

“So  you  have  turned  me  out  of  my  box;  it 
is  a very  strange  thing  for  a colt  like  you  to  come 
and  turn  a lady  out  of  her  own  home.” 

“I  beg  your  pardon,”  I said,  “I  have  turned 
no  one  out;  the  man  put  me  here,  and  I had 
nothing  to  do  with  it;  and  as  to  my  being  a colt, 
I am  turned  four  years  old  and  am  a grown-up 
horse.  I never  had  words  yet  with  horse  oi 
mare,  and  it  is  my  wish  to  live  at  peace.” 

“Well,”  she  said,  “we  shall  see;  I do  not  want 
to  have  words  with  a young  thing  like  you.” 

I said  no  more.  In  the  afternoon,  Merry- 
legs  told  me  all  about  it. 

“The  thing  is  this,”  said  Merrylegs.  “Gin- 
ger has  a habit  of  biting  and  snapping;  that  is 
why  they  call  her  Ginger,  and  when  she  was  ir 
the  loose  box  she  used  to  snap  very  much.  One 


BXRTWICK  PARK 


19 


day  she  bit  James  in  the  arm  and  made  it 
bleed,  and  so  Miss  Flora  and  Miss  Jessie,  who 
are  very  fond  of  me,  were  afraid  to  come  into 
the  stable.  They  used  to  bring  me  nice  things 
to  eat,  an  apple  or  a carrot  or  a piece  of  bread, 
but  after  Ginger  stood  in  that  box  they  dared  not 
zome,  and  I missed  them  very  much.  I hope  they 
will  now  come  again,  if  you  do  not  bite  or  snap.” 

I told  him  I never  bit  anything  but  grass, 
lay,  and  corn,  and  could  not  think  what  pleasure 
Ginger  found  in  it. 

“Well,  I don’t  think  she  does  find  pleasure,” 
said  Merrylegs,  “it  is  just  a bad  habit;  she  says 
10  one  was  ever  kind  to  her,  and  why  should  she 
lot  bite?  It  is  a very  bad  habit,  but  I am  sure 
f all  she  says  be  true  she  must  have  been  very 
11-used  before-  she  came  here.  John  does  all  he 
'.an  to  please  her,  and  James  does  all  he  can, 
ind  our  master  rarely  uses  a whip,  so  I think 
he  might  be  good-tempered  here. 

“You  see,”  he  said,  with  a wise  look,  “I  am 
welve  years  old.  I know  a great  deal,  and  I 
an  tell  you  there  is  not  a better  place  for  a 
torse  all  around  the  country  than  this.  John 
3 the  best  groom  that  ever  was.  He  has  been 
Jiere  fourteen  years;  and  you  never  saw  such  a 
:ind  boy  as  James  is.  So  that  it  is  Ginger’s  own 
ault  that  she  did  not  stay  in  that  box.” 


Chapter  V 
A FAIR  START 


rHE  name  of  the  coachman  was  John  Manly; 
he  had  a wife  and  one  little  child,  and  they 
lived  in  the  coachman’s  cottage  very  near 
te  stables. 

The  next  morning  he  took  me  into  the  yard 
Bid  gave  me  a good  grooming,  and  just  as  I 
going  into  my  box,  with  my  coat  soft  and 
the  Squire  came  in  to  look  at  me,  and 
1 emed  pleased. 

“John,”  he  said,  “I  meant  to  have  tried  the 
irn  horse  this  morning,  but  I have  other  busi- 
[bss.  You  may  as  well  take  him  around  after 
beakfast.  Go  by  the  common  and  the  High- 
lood,  and  back  by  the  water  mill  and  the  river; 
t at  will  show  his  paces.” 

“I  will,  sir,”  said  John. 

After  breakfast  he  came  and  fitted  me  out 
th  a bridle.  He  was  very  particular  in  letting 
o it  and  taking  in  the  straps,  to  fit  my  head  com- 
fjrtably.  Then  he  brought  a saddle,  but  it  was 
■fit  broad  enough  for  my  back;  he  saw  it  in  a 
o inute  and  went  for  another,  which  fitted  nicely. 
« 21 


22 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


He  rode  me  first  slowly,  then  a trot,  then 
canter,  and  when  we  were  on  the  common  1 
gave  me  a light  touch  with  his  whip,  and  we  ha 
a splendid  gallop. 

“Ho,  ho!  my  boy,”  he  said,  as  he  pulled  ir 
up,  “you  would  like  to  follow  the  hounds,  i 
think.” 

We  came  back  through  the  park  and  mil 
the  Squire  and  Mrs.  Gordon  walking;  the  j 
stopped  and  John  jumped  off. 

“Well,  John,  how  does  he  go?” 

“First-rate,  sir,”  answered  John.  “He  is  t 
fleet  as  a deer,  and  has  a fine  spirit,  too;  but  tl 
lightest  touch  of  the  rein  will  guide  him.  At  tl 
end  of  the  common  we  met  one  of  those  trave 
ing  carts  hung  all  over  with  baskets,  rugs,  ar 
such  like.  You  know,  sir,  many  horses  won 
pass  those  carts  quietly.  He  just  took  a goc 
look  at  it,  and  then  went  on  as  quiet  and  pleasai 
as  could  be.  They  were  shooting  rabbits  nee 
the  High  wood,  and  a gun  went  off'  close  by;  1 
pulled  up  a little  and  looked,  but  didn’t  stir  a ste 
to  right  or  left.  I held  the  rein  steady  and  didn 
hurry  him,  and  it’s  my  opinion  he  has  not  bee 
frightened  or  ill-used  while  he  was  young.” 
“That’s  well,”  said  the  Squire;  “I  will  t) 
him  myself  tomorrow.” 

The  next  day  I was  brought  up  for  n 


A FAIR  START 


23 


naster.  I remembered  my  mother’s  counsel 
aid  my  good  old  master’s,  and  I tried  to  do 
exactly  what  he  wanted  me  to  do.  I found  he 
vas  a very  good  rider,  and  thoughtful  for  his 
■torse,  too.  When  he  came  home,  the  mistress 
vas  at  the  hall  door  as  he  rode  up. 

“Well,  my  dear,”  she  said,  “how  do  you  like 
lim?” 

“He  is  exactly  what  John  said,”  he  replied, 
‘a  pleasanter  creature  I never  wish  to  mount. 
Tiat  shall  we  call  him?” 

“Would  you  like  Ebony?  He  is  as  black  as 
)ony,”  she  said. 

“No,  not  Ebony.” 

“Will  you  call  him  Blackbird,  like  your 
icle’s  old  horse?” 

“No,  he  is  far  handsomer  than  old  Black- 
i rd  ever  was.” 

is  “Yes,”  she  said,  “he  is  really  quite  a beauty, 
11  id  he  has  such  a sweet,  good-tempered  face 
?;hd  such  a fine,  intelligent  eye — what  do  you 
is  y to  calling  him  Black  Beauty?” 
lii  “Black  Beauty — why,  yes,  I think  that  is  a 

Wry  good  name.  If  you  like,  it  shall  be  his 
me,”  and  so  it  was. 

11  I When  John  went  into  the  stable  he  told 
Jmes  that  the  master  and  mistress  had  chosen 
i a ^ood  sensible  name  for  me,  that  meant  some- 


24 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


thing;  not  like  Marengo,  or  Pegasus,  or  At 
dallah.  They  both  laughed,  and  James  said: 
“If  it  was  not  for  bringing  back  the  pasl 
I should  have  named  him  Rob  Roy,  for  I neve 
saw  two  horses  more  alike.” 

“That's  no  wonder,”  said  John.  “Didn’ 
you  know  that  Farmer  Gray's  old  Duchess  wa 
the  mother  of  them  both?” 

I had  never  heard  that  before;  and  so  poo 
Rob  Roy  who  was  killed  at  that  hunt  was  m 
brother!  I did  not  wonder  that  my  mother  wa 
so  troubled.  It  seems  that  horses  have  no  rela 
tions;  at  least  they  never  know  each  other  afte 
they  are  sold. 

John  seemed  very  proud  of  me;  he  used  t 
make  my  mane  and  tail  almost  as  smooth  as  | 
lady's  hair.  And  he  would  talk  to  me  a grea 
deal;  of  course,  I did  not  understand  all  he  saic 
but  I learned  more  and  more  to  know  what  h 
meant  and  what  he  wanted  me  to  do.  I gre^ 
very  fond  of  him,  he  was  so  gentle  and  kinc 
He  seemed  to  know  just  how  a horse  feels,  an 
when  he  cleaned  me  he  knew  the  tender  place 
and  the  ticklish  places.  When  he  brushed  m 
head,  he  went  as  carefully  over  my  eyes  as  i 
they  were  his  own,  and  never  stirred  up  an 
ill-temper. 

James  Howard,  the  stable  boy,  was  just  s 


A FAIR  START 


25 


entle  and  pleasant  in  his  way,  so  I thought  my- 
self well  off.  There  was  another  man  who 
helped  in  the  yard,  but  he  had  very  little  to  do 
vith  Ginger  and  me. 

A few  days  after  this  I had  to  go  out  with 
linger  in  the  carriage.  I wondered  how  we 
nould  get  on  together;  but  except  laying  her 
<ars  back  when  I was  led  up  to  her,  she  behaved 
ry  well.  She  did  her  work  honestly,  and  did 
r full  share,  and  I never  wish  to  have  a better 
rtner  in  double  harness.  When  we  came  to 
i'  hill,  instead  of  slackening  her  pace  she  would 
tirow  her  weight  right  into  the  collar,  and  pull 
way  straight  up. 

We  had  both  the  same  sort  of  courage  at 
[ir  work,  and  John  had  oftener  to  hold  us  in 
lan  to  urge  us  forward.  He  never  had  to  use 
4ie  whip  with  either  of  us.  Then  our  paces  were 
: uch  the  same,  and  I found  it  very  easy  to  keep 
ep  with  her  when  trotting,  which  made  it 
easant,  and  master  always  liked  it  when  we 
slept  step  well,  and  so  did  John.  After  we  had 
afcen  out  a few  times  together  we  grew  friendly 
1 aid  sociable,  which  made  me  feel  very  much  at 
aspme. 

As  for  Merrylegs,  he  and  I soon  became 
i’eat  friends.  He  was  such  a cheerful,  plucky, 
stbod-tempered  little  fellow,  that  he  was  a f avor- 


! 


26 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


ite  with  everyone,  and  especially  with  Mis 
Jessie  and  Flora,  who  used  to  ride  him  about  i 
the  orchard,  and  have  fine  games  with  him  an 
their  little  dog  Frisky. 

Our  master  had  two  other  horses  that  stoo 
in  another  stable.  One  was  Justice,  a roan  col 
used  for  riding,  or  for  the  luggage  cart;  tt 
other  was  an  old  brown  hunter,  named  S 
Oliver.  He  was  past  work  now,  but  was  a gres 
favorite  with  the  master,  who  gave  him  the  ru 
of  the  park.  He  sometimes  did  a little  light  car 
ing  on  the  estate,  or  carried  one  of  the  youn 
ladies  when  they  rode  out  with  their  father;  fc 
he  was  very  gentle,  and  could  be  trusted  with 
child  as  well  as  Merrylegs.  The  cob  was  : 
strong,  well-made,  good-tempered  horse,  an 
we  sometimes  had  a little  chat  in  the  paddocl 
but  of  course  I could  not  be  so  intimate  with  hi] 
as  with  Ginger,  who  stood  in  the  same  stable. 


Chapter  VI 
LIBERTY 


f WAS  quite  happy  in  my  new  place,  and  if 
j[  there  was  one  thing  I missed,  it  must  not 
be  thought  I was  discontented.  All  who 
M to  do  with  me  were  good,  and  I had  a light, 
•iry  stable  and  the  best  of  food.  What  more 
kmld  I want?  Why,  liberty!  For  three  years 
'lid  a half  of  my  life  I had  had  all  the  liberty 
1 could  wish  for;  but  now,  week  after  week, 
ronth  after  month,  and  no  doubt  year  after 
Aar,  I must  stand  up  in  a stable  night  and  day 
accept  when  I am  wanted,  and  then  I must  be 
j.st  as  steady  and  quiet  as  any  old  horse  who 
hs  worked  twenty  years.  Straps  here  and 
esraps  there,  a bit  in  my  mouth,  and  blinkers 
crer  my  eyes. 

Now  I am  not  complaining,  for  1 know  it 
rust  be  so.  I only  mean  to  say  that  for  a young 
brse  full  of  strength  and  spirits,  who  has  been 
u;ed  to  some  large  field  or  plain,  where  he  can 
fing  up  his  head,  and  toss  up  his  tail  and  gallop 
a^ay  at  full  speed,  then  round  and  back  again 
v th  a snort  to  his  companions — I say  it  is  hard 
r.iver  to  have  a bit  more  liberty  to  do  as  you  like. 

27 

i 


28 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


Sometimes,  when  I have  had  less  exercis 
than  usual,  I have  felt  so  full  of  life  and  spring 
that  when  John  has  taken  me  out  to  exercise 
really  could  not  keep  quiet.  Do  what  I woulc 
it  seemed  as  if  I must  jump,  or  dance,  or  pranct 
and  many  a good  shake  I know  I must  hav 
given  him;  but  he  was  always  good  and  patient 

“Steady,  steady,  my  boy,”  he  would  sa j 
“wait  a bit,  and  we’ll  have  a good  swing,  an 
soon  get  the  tickle  out  of  your  feet.”  Then  a 
soon  as  we  were  out  of  the  village  he  would  giv 
me  a few  miles  at  a spanking  trot,  and  the: 
bring  me  back  as  fresh  as  before,  only  clear  o 
the  fidgets,  as  he  called  them. 

Spirited  horses,  when  not  enough  exercisec 
are  often  called  skittish,  when  it  is  only  play 
and  some  grooms  will  punish  them,  but  our  Joh: 
did  not;  he  knew  it  was  only  high  spirits.  Still 
he  had  his  own  ways  of  making  me  understan 
by  the  tone  of  his  voice  or  the  touch  of  the  reir 
If  he  was  quite  determined,  I always  knew  it  b; 
his  voice,  and  that  had  more  power  with  m 
than  anything  else,  for  I was  very  fond  of  him. 

I ought  to  say  that  sometimes  we  had  on 
liberty  for  a few  hours;  this  used  to  be  on  fin 
Sundays  in  the  summer  time.  The  carriage 
never  went  out  on  Sundays  because  the  churc) 
was  not  far  off. 


LIBERTY 


29 


It  was  a great  treat  to  us  to  be  turned  out 
into  the  home  paddock  or  the  old  orchard.  The 
grass  was  so  cool  and  soft  to  our  feet,  the  air 
so  sweet,  and  the  freedom  to  do  as  we  liked  was 
so  pleasant — to  gallop,  to  lie  down,  and  roll  over 
on  our  backs,  or  to  nibble  the  sweet  grass.  Then 
I it  was  a very  good  time  for  talking,  as  we  stood 
i together  under  the  shade  of  the  large  chestnut 


Chapter  VII 


GINGER 

ONE  day  when  Ginger  and  I were  standing 
alone  in  the  shade,  we  had  a great  deal  of 
talk.  She  wanted  to  know  ail  about  my 
bringing  up  and  breaking  in,  and  I told  her. 

“Well,”  said  she,  “if  I had  had  your  bring- 
ing up,  I might  have  had  as  good  a temper  as 
you,  but  now  I don’t  believe  I ever  shall.” 

“Why  not?”  I said. 

“Because  it  has  all  been  so  different  with 
me,”  she  replied.  “I  never  had  anyone,  horse  or 
man,  that  was  kind  to  me,  or  that  I cared  to 
please,  for  in  the  first  place  I was  taken  from 
my  mother  as  soon  as  I was  weaned  and  put 
with  a lot  of  other  young  colts;  none  of  them 
cared  for  me,  and  I cared  for  none  of  them. 
There  was  no  kind  master  like  yours  to  look 
after  me,  and  talk  to  me,  and  bring  me  nice 
things  to  eat.  The  man  that  had  care  of  us  never 
gave  me  a kind  word  in  my  life. 

“I  do  not  mean  that  he  ill-used  me,  but  he 
did  not  care  for  us  one  bit  further  than  to  see 
that  we  had  plenty  to  eat  and  a shelter  in  the 
winter.  A footpath  ran  through  our  field,  and 

30 


GINGER 


31 


very  often  the  great  boys  passing  through  would 
fling  stones  to  make  us  gallop.  I was  never  hit, 
but  one  fine  young  colt  was  badly  cut  in  the  face, 
and  I should  think  it  would  be  a scar  for  life.  We 
did  not  care  for  them,  but  of  course  it  made  us 
more  wild,  and  we  settled  it  in  our  minds  that 
boys  were  our  enemies. 

“We  had  very  good  fun  in  the  free  mead- 
ows, galloping  up  and  down  and  chasing  each 
other  round  and  round  the  field,  then  standing 
still  under  the  shade  of  the  trees.  But  when  it 
came  to  breaking  in,  that  was  a bad  time  for  me. 
Several  men  came  to  catch  me,  and  when  at  last 
they  closed  me  in  at  one  corner  of  the  field,  one 
caught  me  by  the  forelock,  another  caught  me 
by  the  nose  and  held  it  so  tight  I could  hardly 
draw  my  breath;  then  another  took  my  under 
jaw  in  his  hand  and  wrenched  my  mouth  open, 
and  so  by  force  they  got  the  halter  and  the  bit 
into  my  mouth.  Then  one  dragged  me  along  by 
the  halter,  another  flogging  behind,  and  this  was 
the  first  experience  I had  of  men's  kindness — 
it  was  all  force. 

“They  did  not  give  me  a chance  to  know 
what  they  wanted.  I was  high-bred  and  had  a 
great  deal  of  spirit,  and  was  very  wild,  no 
doubt,  and  gave  them,  I dare  say,  plenty  of 
trouble,  but  then  it  was  dreadful  to  be  shut  up 


32 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


in  a stall  day  after  day  instead  of  having  my 
liberty,  and  I fretted  and  pined  and  wanted  to 
get  loose.  You  know  yourself  it’s  bad  enough 
when  you  have  a kind  master  and  plenty  of  coax- 
ing, but  there  was  nothing  of  that  sort  for  me. 

“There  was  one — the  old  master,  Mr.  Ryder 
— who,  I think,  could  soon  have  brought  me 
round,  and  could  have  done  anything  with  me; 
but  he  had  given  up  all  the  hard  part  of  the 
trade  to  his  son  and  to  another  experienced  man, 
and  he  only  came  at  times  to  oversee. 

“His  son  was  a strong,  tall,  bold  man;  they 
called  him  Samson,  and  he  used  to  boast  that  he 
had  never  found  a horse  that  could  throw  him. 
There  was  no  gentleness  in  him,  as  there  was  in 
his  father,  but  only  hardness,  a hard  voice,  a 
hard  eye,  a hard  hand;  and  I felt  from  the  first 
that  what  he  wanted  was  to  wear  all  the  spirit 
out  of  me,  and  just  make  me  into  a quiet,  i 
humble,  obedient  piece  of  horseflesh.  ‘Horse- 
flesh!’ Yes,  that  is  all  that  he  thought  about,” 
and  Ginger  stamped  her  foot  as  if  the  very 
thought  of  him  made  her  angry.  Then  she 
went  on : 

“If  I did  not  do  exactly  what  he  wanted,  he 
would  get  put  out  and  make  me  run  around  with 
that  long  rein  in  the  training  field  till  he  had 
tired  me  out.  I think  he  drank  a good  deal,  and 


GINGER  33 

I am  quite  sure  that  the  oftener  he  drank  the 
worse  he  was  for  me. 

“One  day  he  had  worked  me  hard  in  every 
way  he  could,  and  when  I lay  down  I was  tired 
and  miserable  and  angry;  it  all  seemed  so  hard. 
The  next  morning  he  came  for  me  early,  and 
ran  me  round  again  for  a long  time.  I had 
scarcely  had  an  hour’s  rest  when  he  came  again 
for  me  with  a saddle  and  bridle  and  a new  kind 
of  bit. 

“I  could  never  quite  tell  how  it  came  about; 
he  had  only  just  mounted  me  on  the  training 
ground,  when  something  I did  put  him  out  of 
temper,  and  he  chucked  me  hard  with  the  rein. 
The  new  bit  was  very  painful,  and  I reared  up 
'Suddenly,  which  angered  him  still  more,  and  he 
began  to  flog  me.  I felt  my  whole  spirit  set 
against  him,  and  I began  to  kick  and  plunge  and 
rear  as  I had  never  done  before,  and  we  had  a 
regular  fight. 

“For  a long  time  he  stuck  to  the  saddle  and 
punished  me  cruelly  with  his  whip  and  spurs, 
but  my  blood  was  thoroughly  up,  and  I cared 
for  nothing  he  could  do  if  only  I could  get  him 
off.  At  last,  after  a terrible  struggle,  I threw 
him  off  backwards.  I heard  him  fall  heavily  on 
the  turf,  and  without  looking  behind  me  I gal- 
loped off  to  the  other  end  of  the  field.  There  I 


34 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


turned  round  and  saw  him  slowly  rising  from 
the  ground  and  going  into  the  stable.  I stood 
under  an  oak  tree  and  watched,  but  no  one  came 
to  catch  me. 

‘The  time  went  on,  and  the  sun  was  very 
hot;  the  flies  swarmed  round  me  and  settled  on 
my  bleeding  flanks  where  the  spurs  had  dug  in. 
I felt  hungry,  for  I had  not  eaten  since  early 
morning,  but  there  was  not  enough  grass  in 
that  meadow  for  a goose  to  live  on.  I wanted  to 
lie  down  and  rest,  but  with  the  saddle  strapped 
tightly  on  there  was  no  comfort,  and  there  was 
not  a drop  of  water  to  drink.  The  afternoon 
wore  on,  and  the  sun  got  low.  I saw  the  other 
colts  led  in,  and  I knew  they  were  having  a good 
feed. 

“At  last,  just  as  the  sun  went  down,  I saw 
the  old  master  come  out  with  a sieve  in  his  hand. 
He  was  a very  fine  old  gentleman  with  quite 
white  hair,  but  his  voice  was  what  I should  know 
him  by,  among  a thousand.  It  was  not  high, 
nor  yet  low,  but  full  and  clear  and  kind,  and 
when  he  gave  orders  it  was  so  steady  and 
decided  that  everyone  knew,  both  horses  and 
men,  that  he  expected  to  be  obeyed. 

He  came  quietly  along,  now  and  then  shak- 
ing the  oats  about,  that  he  had  in  the  sieve,  and 
speaking  cheerfully  and  gently  to  me,  ‘Come 


GINGER  35 

along,  lassie,  come  along,  lassie;  come  along, 
come  along.’ 

“I  stood  still  and  let  him  come  up.  He  held 
the  oats  to  me,  and  I began  to  eat  without  fear; 
his  voice  took  all  my  fear  away.  He  stood  by, 
patting  and  stroking  me  while  I was  eating,  and 
seeing  the  clots  of  blood  on  my  side  he  seemed 
very  vexed.  ‘Poor  lassie!  it  was  a bad  business, 
a bad  business!’ 

“Then  he  quietly  took  the  rein  and  led  me 
to  the  stable;  just  at  the  door  stood  Samson.  I 
laid  my  ears  back  and  snapped  at  him. 

“ ‘Stand  back,’  said  the  master,  ‘and  keep 
out  of  her  way;  you’ve  done  a bad  day’s  work  for 
this  filly.’ 

“He  growled  out  something  about  a vicious 
brute. 

“ ‘Hark  ye,’  said  the  father,  ‘a  bad-tem- 
pered man  will  never  make  a good-tempered 
horse.  You’ve  not  learned  your  trade  yet, 
Samson.’ 

“He  led  me  into  my  box,  took  off  the  saddle 
and  bridle  with  his  own  hands,  and  tied  me  up. 
Then  he  called  for  a pail  of  warm  water  and  a 
sponge,  took  off  his  coat,  and  while  the  stable- 
man held  the  pail  he  sponged  my  sides  a good 
while,  so  tenderly  that  I was  sure  he  knew  how 
sore  and  bruised  they  were. 

I 


86 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“ ‘Whoa ! my  pretty  one/  he  said,  ‘stand 
still,  stand  still/ 

“His  very  voice  did  me  good,  and  the  bath- 
ing was  very  comfortable.  The  skin  was  sc 
broken  at  the  corners  of  my  mouth  that  I could 
not  eat  the  hay,  the  stalks  hurt  me.  He  looked 
closely  at  it,  shook  his  head,  and  told  the  man 
to  fetch  a good  bran  mash  and  put  some  meal 
into  it.  How  good  that  mash  was!  and  so  soft 
and  healing  to  my  mouth.  He  stood  by  all  the 
time  I was  eating,  stroking  me  and  talking  tc 
the  man. 

“ Tf  a high-mettled  creature  like  this/  said 
he,  ‘can’t  be  broken  in  by  fair  means,  she  will 
never  be  good  for  anything/ 

“After  that  he  often  came  to  see  me,  and 
when  my  mouth  was  healed,  the  other  breaker 
Job,  they  called  him,  went  on  training  me.  He 
was  steady  and  thoughtful,  and  I soon  learned 
what  he  wanted/’ 


Chapter  VIII 

GINGER’S  STORY  CONTINUED 


THE  next  time  that  Ginger  and  I were  to- 
gether in  the  paddock  she  told  me  about 
her  first  place. 

“After  my  breaking  in,”  she  said,  “I  was 
bought  by  a dealer  to  match  another  chestnut 
lorse.  For  some  weeks  he  drove  us  together, 
knd  then  we  were  sold  to  a fashionable  gentle- 
nan,  and  were  sent  up  to  London.  I had  been 
Iriven  with  a checkrein  by  the  dealer,  and  I 
lated  it  worse  than  anything  else;  but  in  this 
)lace  we  were  reined  far  tighter,  the  coachman 
ind  his  master  thinking  we  looked  more  stylish 
o.  We  were  often  driven  about  in  the  park  and 
ther  fashionable  places.  You  who  never  had 
- checkrein  on  don’t  know  what  it  is,  but  I can 
ell  you  it  is  dreadful. 

“I  like  to  toss  my  head  about,  and  hold  it  as 
igh  as  any  horse.  But  fancy  now  yourself,  if 
ou  tossed  your  head  up  high,  and  were  obliged 
d hold  it  there,  and  that  for  hours  together,  not 
ble  to  move  it  at  all  except  with  a jerk  still 
igher,  your  neck  aching  till  you  did  not  know 
ow  to  bear  it. 


87 


38 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Besides  that,  I had  to  wear  two  bits  instea 
of  one,  and  mine  was  a sharp  one.  It  hurt  m 
tongue  and  my  jaw,  and  the  blood  from  m 
tongue  colored  the  froth  that  kept  flying  fror 
my  lips,  as  I chafed  and  fretted  at  the  bits  an 
rein.  It  was  worse  when  wTe  had  to  stand  b 
the  hour  waiting  for  our  mistress  at  some  gran 
party  or  entertainment;  and  if  I fretted  c 
stamped  with  impatience  the  whip  was  laid  oi 
It  was  enough  to  drive  one  mad.” 

“Did  not  your  master  take  any  thought  fc 
you?”  I said. 

“No,”  said  she,  “he  only  cared  to  have 
stylish  turnout,  as  they  called  it.  I think  h 
knew  very  little  about  horses.  He  left  that  t 
his  coachman,  who  told  him  I had  an  irritabl 
temper,  that  I had  not  been  well  broken  to  tfc 
checkrein,  but  I should  soon  get  used  to  it.  Bi 
he  was  not  the  man  to  do  it,  for  when  I was  i 
the  stable,  miserable  and  angry,  instead  of  bein 
soothed  and  quieted  by  kindness,  I got  only 
surly  word  or  a blow.  If  he  had  been  civil 
would  have  tried  to  bear  it. 

“I  was  willing  to  work,  and  ready  to  woi 
hard,  too;  but  to  be  tormented  for  nothing  bi 
their  fancies  angered  me.  What  right  had  the 
to  make  me  suffer  like  that?  Besides  the  son 
ness  in  my  mouth  and  the  pain  in  my  neck,  ; 


GINGER'S  STORY 


39 


ilways  made  my  windpipe  feel  bad,  and  if  I had 
Stayed  there  long  I know  it  would  have  spoiled 
ny  breathing. 

“I  grew  more  and  more  restless  and  irri- 
;able;  I could  not  help  it;  and  I began  to  snap 
ind  kick  when  anyone  came  to  harness  me.  For 
his  the  groom  beat  me,  and  one  day,  as  they 
aad  just  buckled  us  into  the  carriage,  and  were 
training  my  head  up  with  that  rein,  I plunged 
tnd  kicked  with  all  my  might.  I soon  broke  a 
bt  of  harness,  and  kicked  myself  clear;  so  that 
vas  an  end  of  that  place. 

“After  this  I was  sent  to  TattersalPs  to  be 
old.  Of  course  I could  not  be  warranted  free 
bom  vice,  so  nothing  was  said  about  that.  My 
[Landsome  appearance  and  good  paces  soon 
bought  a gentleman  to  bid  for  me,  and  I 
Vas  bought  by  another  dealer.  He  tried  me  in 
,11  kinds  of  ways  and  with  different  bits,  and  he 
oon  found  out  what  I could  not  bear.  At  last 
e drove  me  quite  without  a checkrein,  and  then 
old  me  as  a perfectly  quiet  horse  to  a gentle- 
lan  in  the  country.  He  was  a good  master,  and 
: was  getting  on  very  well,  but  his  old  groom 
3ft  him  and  a new  one  came. 

“This  man  was  as  hard-tempered  and  hard- 
anded  as  Samson.  He  always  spoke  in  a rough, 
npatient  voice,  and  if  I did  not  move  in  the  stall 


40 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


the  moment  he  wanted  me,  he  would  hit  me 
above  the  hocks  with  his  stable  broom  or  the 
fork,  whichever  he  might  have  in  his  hand 
Everything  he  did  was  rough,  and  I began  tc 
hate  him. 

“He  wanted  to  make  me  afraid  of  him,  bui 
I was  too  high-mettled  for  that,  and  one  day 
when  he  had  exasperated  me  more  than  usual 
I bit  him,  which  of  course  put  him  in  a greai 
rage,  and  he  began  to  hit  me  about  the  heac 
with  a riding  whip.  After  that  he  never  darec 
to  come  into  my  stall  again;  either  my  heels  oi 
my  teeth  were  ready  for  him,  and  he  knew  it 
I was  quiet  with  my  master,  but  of  course 
he  listened  to  what  the  man  said,  and  so  I was 
sold  again. 

“The  same  dealer  heard  of  me,  and  said  he 
thought  he  knew  one  place  where  I should  dc 
well.  ‘ ’Twas  a pity/  he  said,  ‘that  such  a fine 
horse  should  go  to  the  bad  for  want  of  a rea 
good  chance/  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  I came 
here  not  long  before  you  did.  But  I had  ther 
made  up  my  mind  that  men  were  my  natura 
enemies  and  that  I must  defend  myself.  0: 
course  it  is  very  different  here,  but  who  knows 
how  long  it  will  last?  I wish  I could  think  abou 
things  as  you  do,  but  I can’t,  after  all  I haw 
gone  through/1 


GINGER'S  STORY 


41 


“Well,”  I said,  “I  think  it  would  be  a real 
tfiame  if  you  were  to  bite  or  kick  John  or 
fames.” 

“I  don't  mean  to,”  she  said,  “while  they  are 
rood  to  me.  I did  bite  James  once  pretty  sharp, 
)ut  John  said,  ‘Try  her  with  kindness,’  and 
hstead  of  punishing  me  as  I expected,  James 
lame  to  me  with  his  arm  bound  up,  and  brought 
ne  a bran  mash  and  stroked  me;  and  I have 
lever  snapped  at  him  since,  and  I won't  either.” 

I was  sorry  for  Ginger,  but  of  course  I knew 
rery  little  then,  and  I thought  most  likely  she 
nade  the  worst  of  it.  However,  I found  that  as 
'he  weeks  went  on  she  grew  much  more  gentle 
tnd  cheerful,  and  had  lost  the  watchful,  defiant 
ook  that  she  used  to  turn  on  any  strange  person 
hat  came  near  her. 

One  day  James  said: 

“I  do  believe  that  mare  is  getting  fond  of 
ie;  she  quite  whinnied  after  me  this  morning 
/hen  I had  been  rubbing  her  forehead.” 

“Ay,  ay,  Jim,  'tis  ‘the  Birtwick  balls,'  ” said 
ohn.  “She’ll  be  as  good  as  Black  Beauty  by  and 
fry.  Kindness  is  all  the  physic  she  wants,  poor 
hing!” 

Master  noticed  the  change  too,  and  one  day 
/hen  he  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  came  to 
peak  to  us,  as  he  often  did,  he  stroked  her  beau- 


42 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


tiful  neck.  “Well,  my  pretty  one,  well,  how  d 
things  go  with  you  now?  You  are  a good  bi 
happier  than  when  you  came  to  us,  I think.” 

She  put  her  nose  up  to  him  in  a friendly 
trustful  way,  while  he  rubbed  it  gently. 

“We  shall  make  a cure  of  her,  John,”  h 

said. 

“Yes,  sir,  she’s  wonderfully  improved;  she’ 
not  the  same  creature  that  she  was;  it’s  the  Birt 
wick  balls,  sir,”  said  John,  laughing. 

This  was  a little  joke  of  John’s.  He  use 
to  say  that  a regular  course  of  the  Birtwicl 
horse  balls  would  cure  almost  any  vicious  horse 
These  balls,  he  said,  were  made  up  of  patienc 
and  gentleness,  firmness  and  petting;  one  pourn 
of  each  to  be  mixed  up  with  a pint  of  commoi 
sense,  and  given  to  the  horse  every  day. 


Chapter  IX 
MERRYLEGS 


Ik  £ R.  BLOMEFIELD,  the  Vicar,  had  a large 
LVJL  family  of  boys  and  girls.  Sometimes 
they  used  to  come  and  play  with  Miss 
,ressie  and  Flora.  One  of  the  girls  was  as  old 
is  Miss  Jessie;  two  of  the  boys  were  older,  and 
here  were  several  little  ones.  When  they  came 
here  was  plenty  of  work  for  Merrylegs,  for 
lothing  pleased  them  so  much  as  getting  on  him 
•y  turns  and  riding  him  all  about  the  orchard 
ind  the  home  paddock,  and  this  they  would  do 
y the  hour  together. 

One  afternoon  he  had  been  out  with  them 
long  time,  and  when  James  brought  him  in 
nd  put  on  his  halter,  he  said : 

“There,  you  rogue,  mind  how  you  behave 
ourself,  or  we  shall  get  into  trouble.” 

“What  have  you  been  doing,  Merrylegs?” 
asked. 

“Oh!”  said  he,  tossing  his  little  head,  “I 
ave  only  been  giving  those  young  people  a les- 
bn.  They  did  not  know  when  they  had  had 
mough,  so  I just  pitched  them  off  backwards; 
bat  was  the  only  thing  they  could  understand.” 

43 


“ The  children  did  not  know  when  they  had  enoughj  so  I just  pitche 

them  off  backwards” 


MERRYLEGS 


45 


“What?”  said  I,  “you  threw  the  children  off? 
I thought  you  did  know  better  than  that!  Did 
you  throw  Miss  Jessie  or  Miss  Flora?” 

He  looked  very  much  offended  and  said: 
“Of  course  not;  I would  not  do  such  a thing 
for  the  best  oats  that  ever  came  into  the  stable; 
why,  I am  as  careful  of  our  young  ladies  as  the 
master  could  be,  and  as  for  the  little  ones,  it  is 
I who  teach  them  to  ride.  When  they  seem 
frightened  or  a little  unsteady  on  my  back,  I go 
as  smooth  and  as  quiet  as  an  old  pussy  when  she 
is  after  a bird;  and  when  they  are  all  right  I go 
|on  again  faster,  you  see,  just  to  use  them  to  it. 
So  don’t  you  trouble  yourself  preaching  to  me; 
C am  the  best  friend  and  the  best  riding  master 
;hose  children  have. 

“It  is  not  they,  it  is  the  boys.  Boys,”  said 
le,  shaking  his  mane,  “are  quite  different;  they 
nust  be  broken  in,  as  we  were  broken  in  when 
ve  were  colts,  and  just  be  taught  what’s  what. 
The  other  children  had  ridden  me  about  for 
l^arly  two  hours,  and  then  the  boys  thought  it 
vas  their  turn;  and  so  it  was,  and  I was  quite 
igreeable.  They  rode  me  by  turns,  and  I gal- 
oped them  about,  up  and  down  the  fields  and 
ill  about  the  orchard,  for  a good  hour. 

“They  had  each  cut  a great  hazel  stick  for  a 
tiding  whip,  and  laid  it  on  a little  too  hard;  but 

i 1 


46 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


I took  it  in  good  part,  till  at  last  I thought  we 
had  had  enough,  so  I stopped  two  or  three  times 
by  way  of  a hint.  Boys,  you  see,  think  a horse 
or  pony  is  like  a steam  engine  or  a threshing 
machine,  and  can  go  as  long  and  as  fast  as  they 
please. 

“They  never  think  that  a pony  can  get  tired, 
or  have  any  feelings.  So  as  the  one  who  was 
whipping  me  could  not  understand,  I just  rose 
up  on  my  hind  legs  and  let  him  slip  off  behind 
— that  was  all ; he  mounted  me  again,  and  I did 
the  same.  Then  the  other  boy  got  up,  and  as 
soon  as  he  began  to  use  his  stick  I laid  him  on 
the  grass,  and  so  on,  till  they  were  able  to 
understand,  that  was  all.  They  are  not  bad 
boys;  they  don’t  wish  to  be  cruel.  I like  them 
very  well;  but  you  see  I had  to  give  them  a 
lesson.  When  they  brought  me  to  James  and 
told  him,  I think  he  was  very  angry  to  see  such 
big  sticks.  He  said  they  were  only  fit  for 
drovers,  and  not  for  young  gentlemen.” 

“If  I had  been  you,”  said  Ginger,  “I  would 
have  given  those  boys  a good  kick,  and  that 
would  have  given  them  a lesson.” 

“No  doubt  you  would,”  said  Merrylegs, 
“but  then  I am  not  quite  such  a fool  (begging 
your  pardon)  as  to  anger  our  master  or  make 
James  ashamed  of  me.  Besides,  those  children 


MERRYLEGS 


47 


are  under  my  charge  when  they  are  riding;  I 
tell  you  they  are  intrusted  to  me.  Why,  only  the 
ither  day  I heard  our  master  say  to  Mrs. 
Blomefield,  ‘My  dear  madam,  you  need  not  be 
anxious  about  the  children;  my  old  Merrylegs 
vill  take  as  much  care  of  them  as  you  or  I could; 
[ assure  you  I would  not  sell  that  pony  for  any 
noney,  he  is  so  perfectly  good-tempered  and 
;rustworthy.’ 

“Do  you  think  I am  such  an  ungrateful 
orute  as  to  forget  all  the  kind  treatment  I have 
aad  for  five  years,  and  all  the  trust  they  place 
n me,  and  turn  vicious,  because  a couple  of 
gnorant  boys  used  me  badly?  No,  no!  you 
aever  had  a good  place  where  they  were  kind  to 
j/ou!  and  so  you  don’t  know,  and  I’m  sorry  for 
Iron;  but  I can  tell  you  good  places  make  good 
lorses.  I wouldn’t  vex  our  people  for  anything; 
' love  them,  I do,”  said  Merrylegs,  and  he  gave 
i low  “Ho,  ho,  ho,”  through  his  nose,  as  he  used 
o do  in  the  morning  when  he  heard  James’s 


•ootstep  at  the  door. 

“Besides,”  he  went  on,  “if  I took  to  kicking, 
vhere  should  I be?  Why,  sold  off  in  a jiffy,  and 
10  character.  I might  find  myself  slaved  about 
aider  a butcher’s  boy,  or  worked  to  death  at 
ome  seaside  place  where  no  one  cared  for  me, 
ixcept  to  find  out  how  fast  I could  go,  or  be 


48 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


flogged  along  in  some  cart  with  three  or  foui 
great  men  in  it  going  out  for  a Sunday  spree 
as  I have  often  seen  in  the  place  I lived  in  before 
I came  here.  No,”  said  he,  shaking  his  head,  “ 
hope  I shall  never  come  to  that.” 


Chapter  X 

A TALK  IN  THE  ORCHARD 


Ol  INGER  and  I were  not  of  the  regular  tall 
Lr  carriage-horse  breed;  we  had  more  of 
racing  blood  in  us.  We  stood  about  fifteen 
nd  a half  hands  high;  we  were,  therefore,  just 
s good  for  riding  as  we  were  for  driving.  Our 
laster  used  to  say  that  he  disliked  either  horse 
r man  that  could  do  but  one  thing;  and,  as  he 
id  not  want  to  show  off  in  London  parks,  he 
referred  a more  active  and  useful  kind  of 
orse. 

As  for  us,  our  greatest  pleasure  was  when 
^e  were  saddled  for  a riding  party — the  master 
n Ginger,  the  mistress  on  me,  and  the  young 
idies  on  Sir  Oliver  and  Merrylegs.  It  was  so 
heerful  to  be  trotting  and  cantering  all  to- 
ether,  that  it  always  put  us  in  high  spirits.  I 
ad  the  best  of  it,  for  I always  carried  the 
aistress.  Her  weight  was  little,  her  voice  was 
:veet,  and  her  hand  was  so  light  on  the  rein 
fiat  I was  guided  almost  without  feeling. 

Oh!  if  people  knew  what  a comfort  to  horses 
i light  hand  is,  and  how  it  keeps  a good  mouth 
vad  a good  temper,  they  surely  would  not  chuck 


50 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


and  drag  and  pull  at  the  rein  as  they  often  do 
Our  mouths  are  so  tender,  that  where  they  havi 
not  been  spoiled  or  hardened  with  bad  or  igno 
rant  treatment,  they  feel  the  slightest  move 
ment  of  the  driver’s  hand,  and  we  know  in  ai 
instant  what  is  required  of  us. 

My  mouth  had  never  been  spoiled,  and 
believe  that  was  why  the  mistress  preferred  m< 
to  Ginger,  although  her  paces  were  certainl; 
quite  as  good.  She  used  often  to  envy  me,  an( 
said  it  was  all  the  fault  of  breaking  in,  and  th 
gag  bit  in  London,  that  her  mouth  was  not  s< 
perfect  as  mine;  and  then  old  Sir  Olive: 
would  say: 

“There,  there!  don’t  vex  yourself;  you  hav* 
the  greatest  honor.  A mare  that  can  carry  ; 
tall  man  of  our  master’s  weight,  with  all  you 
spring  and  sprightly  action,  does  not  need  t< 
hold  her  head  down  because  she  does  not  carr; 
the  lady.  We  horses  must  take  things  as  the; 
come,  and  always  be  contented  and  willing,  s< 
long  as  we  are  kindly  used.” 

I had  often  wondered  how  it  was  that  Si 
Oliver  had  such  a very  short  tail;  it  really  wa 
only  six  or  seven  inches  long,  with  a tassel  o 
hair  hanging  from  it.  On  one  of  our  holiday 
in  the  orchard  I ventured  to  ask  him  by  wha 
accident  it  was  that  he  had  lost  his  tail. 


IN  THE  ORCHARD  51 

“Accident !”  he  snorted,  with  a fierce  look, 
:<it  was  no  accident!  it  was  a cruel,  shameful, 
bold-blooded  act!  When  I was  young  I was 
;aken  to  a place  where  these  cruel  things  were 
lone.  I was  tied  up,  so  that  I could  not  stir,  and 
;hen  they  came  and  cut  off  my  long,  beautiful 
tail,  through  the  flesh  and  through  the  bone, 
ind  took  it  away.” 

“How  dreadful!”  I exclaimed. 

“Dreadful — ah!  it  was  dreadful;  but  it  was 
lot  only  the  pain,  though  that  was  terrible,  and 
asted  a long  time;  it  was  not  only  the  indignity 
>f  having  my  best  ornament  taken  from  me, 
hough  that  was  bad;  but  it  was  this:  how  could 
ever  brush  the  flies  off  my  sides  and  my  hind 
egs  any  more?  You  who  have  tails  just  whisk 
he  flies  off  without  thinking  about  it,  and  you 
an’t  tell  what  a torment  it  is  to  have  them  settle 
pon  you  and  sting  and  sting,  and  have  nothing 
i the  world  to  lash  them  off  with.  I tell  you  it 
b a lifelong  wrong  and  a lifelong  loss;  but, 
lank  Heaven,  they  don’t  do  it  now.” 

“What  did  they  do  it  for,  then?”  said 
-inger. 

“For  fashion!”  said  the  old  horse,  with  a 
samp  of  his  foot,  “if  you  know  what  that  means, 
'here  was  not  a well-bred  young  horse  in  my 
me  that  had  not  his  tail  docked  in  that 


62 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


shameful  way,  just  as  if  the  good  God  tha 
made  us  did  not  know  what  we  wanted,  am 
what  looked  best.” 

“I  suppose  it  is  the  fashion  that  make 
them  strap  our  heads  up  with  those  horrid  bit 
that  I was  tortured  with  in  London,”  sai« 
Ginger. 

“Of  course  it  is,”  said  he.  “To  my  mim 
fashion  is  one  of  the  wickedest  things  in  th 
world.  Now  look,  for  instance,  at  the  way  the; 
serve  dogs,  cutting  off  their  tails  to  make  ther. 
look  plucky,  and  shearing  up  their  pretty  littl 
ears  to  a point  to  make  them  look  sharp 
forsooth. 

“I  had  a dear  friend  once,  a brown  terriei 
‘Skye/  they  called  her.  She  was  so  fond  of  m 
that  she  never  would  sleep  out  of  my  stall.  Sh 
made  her  bed  under  the  manger,  and  there  sh 
had  a litter  of  five  as  pretty  little  puppies  a 
need  be.  None  were  drowned,  for  they  were  i 
valuable  kind,  and  how  pleased  she  was  wit 
them!  When  they  got  their  eyes  open  am 
crawled  about  it  was  a real  pretty  sight. 

“But  one  day  the  man  came  in  and  too' 
them  all  away.  I thought  he  might  be  afrai 
I should  tread  upon  them.  But  it  was  not  so 
in  the  evening  poor  Skye  brought  them  bac' 
again,  one  by  one,  in  her  mouth;  not  the  happ 


IN  THE  ORCHARD  53 

ittle  things  that  they  were,  but  bleeding  and 
rying  pitifully;  they  had  all  had  a piece  of  their 
ails  cut  off,  and  the  soft  flap  of  their  pretty 
Jttle  ears  was  cut  quite  off.  How  their  mother 
:cked  them,  and  how  troubled  she  was,  poor 
fling!  I never  forgot  it. 

“They  healed  in  time,  and  they  forgot  the 
;ain,  but  the  nice  short  flap,  that  of  course  was 
iitended  to  protect  the  delicate  part  of  their 
<ars  from  dust  and  injury,  was  gone  forever. 

“Why  don’t  they  cut  their  own  children’s 
tars  into  points  to  make  them  look  sharp?  Why 
mn’t  they  cut  the  ends  of  their  noses  to  make 
fiem  look  plucky?  One  would  be  just  as  sen- 
|ble  as  the  other.  What  right  have  they  to 
(isfigure  God’s  creatures?” 

Sir  Oliver,  though  he  was  so  gentle,  was  a 
lery  old  fellow,  and  what  he  said  was  all  so  new 
tj>  me  and  so  dreadful,  that  I found  a bitter 
deling  toward  men  rise  up  in  my  mind  that  I 
lever  had  before.  Of  course  Ginger  was  very 
luch  excited.  She  flung  up  her  head  with 
fishing  eyes  and  distended  nostrils,  declaring 
tiat  men  were  both  brutes  and  blockheads. 

“Who  talks  about  blockheads?”  said 
I'errylegs,  who  had  been  rubbing  himself 
gainst  the  old  apple  tree.  “Who  talks  about 
tockheads?  I believe  that  is  a bad  word.” 


54 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Bad  words  were  made  for  bad  things, 
said  Ginger,  and  she  told  him  what  Sir  Olive 
had  said. 

“It  is  all  true,”  said  Merrylegs,  sadly,  “am 
I have  seen  that  about  dogs  over  and  over  agai: 
where  I lived  first;  but  we  won’t  talk  about  i 
here.  You  know  that  master  and  John  am 
James  are  always  good  to  us,  talking  agains 
men  in  such  a place  as  this  doesn’t  seem  fair  o 
grateful.  You  know  there  are  other  goo< 
masters  and  good  grooms  besides  ours,  thoug 
of  course  ours  are  the  best.” 

This  wise  speech  of  good  little  Merrylegs 
which  we  knew  was  quite  true,  cooled  us  ai 
down,  especially  Sir  Oliver,  who  was  dearly  fom 
of  his  master  To  turn  the  subject  I said: 

“Can  anyone  tell  me  the  use  of  blinkers? 

“No!”  said  Sir  Oliver,  “because  they  ar 
no  use.” 

“They  are  supposed,”  said  Justice,  the  roa: 
cob,  in  his  calm  way,  “to  prevent  horses  fror 
shying  and  starting,  and  getting  so  frightene 
as  to  cause  accidents.” 

“Then  what  is  the  reason  they  do  not  pu 
them  on  riding  horses;  especially  on  ladiet 
horses?”  said  I. 

“There  is  no  reason  at  all,”  said  he  quietlj 
“except  the  fashion.  They  say  that  a hors 


IN  THE  ORCHARD 


55 


jvould  be  so  badly  frightened  to  see  the  wheels 
)f  his  own  cart  or  carriage  coming  behind  him 
jhat  he  would  be  sure  to  run  away,  although  of 
course  when  he  is  ridden  he  sees  them  all  about 
jiim  if  the  streets  are  crowded.  I admit  they  do 
iometimes  come  too  close  to  be  pleasant,  but  we 
lon’t  run  away;  we  are  used  to  it,  and  under- 
stand it,  and  if  we  never  had  blinkers  put  on  we 
hould  never  want  them.  We  should  see  what 


Fas  there,  and  know  what  was  what,  and  be 
nuch  less  frightened  than  by  only  seeing  bits 
•f  things  that  we  can’t  understand. 

“Of  course  there  may  be  some  nervous 
torses  who  have  been  hurt  or  frightened  when 
pey  were  young,  who  may  be  better  for  them; 
>ut  as  I never  was  nervous,  I can’t  judge.” 

“I  consider,”  said  Sir  Oliver,  “that  blinkers 
re  dangerous  things  in  the  night.  We  horses 
pn  see  much  better  in  the  dark  than  men  can, 
|nd  many  an  accident  would  never  have 
appened  if  horses  might  have  had  the  full  use 
f their  eyes. 

“Some  years  ago,  I remember,  there  was  a 
earse  with  two  horses  returning  one  dark 
ight,  and  just  by  Farmer  Sparrow’s  house, 
here  the  pond  is  close  to  the  road,  the  wheels 
vent  too  near  the  edge,  and  the  hearse  was 
overturned  into  the  water;  both  the  horses  were 


56 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


drowned,  and  the  driver  hardly  escaped.  0 
course  after  this  accident  a stout  white  rail  wa 
put  up  that  might  be  easily  seen;  but  if  thos 
horses  had  not  been  partly  blinded,  they  wouL 
of  themselves  have  kept  farther  from  the  edge 
and  no  accident  would  have  happened. 

“When  our  master’s  carriage  was  over 
turned,  before  you  came  here,  it  was  said  tha 
if  the  lamp  on  the  left  side  had  not  gone  ou 
John  would  have  seen  the  great  hole  that  th« 
road  makers  had  left;  and  so  he  might.  But  i 
old  Colin  had  not  had  blinkers  on  he  would  hav< 
seen  it,  lamp  or  no  lamp,  for  he  was  far  to< 
knowing  an  old  horse  to  run  into  danger.  As  i 
was,  he  was  very  much  hurt,  the  carriage  wa: 
broken,  and  how  John  escaped  nobody  knew.’ 

“I  should  say,”  said  Ginger,  curling  hei 
nostril,  “that  these  men  who  are  so  wise,  hac 
better  give  orders  that  in  future  all  foals  should 
be  born  with  their  eyes  set  just  in  the  middle  o: 
their  foreheads,  instead  of  on  the  side.  TheJ 
always  think  they  can  improve  upon  nature  and 
mend  what  God  has  made.” 

Things  were  getting  rather  sore  again 
when  Merrylegs  held  up  his  knowing  little  fact 
and  said: 

“Fll  tell  you  a secret:  I believe  John  doe: 
not  approve  of  blinkers.  I heard  him  talking 


IN  THE  ORCHARD 


57 


Tith  master  about  it  one  day.  The  master  said 
hat  ‘if  horses  had  been  used  to  them,  it  might 
>e  dangerous  in  some  cases  to  leave  them  off; 
ndJohn  said  he  thought  it  would  be  a good 
,hing  if  all  colts  were  broken  in  without 
tinkers,  as  was  the  case  in  some  foreign  coun- 
ties. So,  let  us  cheer  up,  and  have  a run  to  the 
ther  end  of  the  orchard.  I believe  the  wind 
as  blown  down  some  apples,  and  we  might  just 
js  well  eat  them  as  the  slugs.” 

Merrylegs  could  not  be  resisted,  so  we  broke 
Iff  our  long  conversation,  and  got  up  our  spirits 
jy  munching  some  very  sweet  apples  which  lay 
mattered  on  the  grass. 


i 

j 

'I 


n 

3 


Chapter  XI 
PLAIN  SPEAKING 

THE  longer  I lived  at  Birtwick,  the  mor< 
proud  and  happy  I felt  at  having  such  r< 
place.  Our  master  and  mistress  wen 
respected  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  them 
They  were  good  and  kind  to  everybody  anc 
everything;  not  only  to  men  and  women,  but  t( 
horses  and  donkeys,  dogs  and  cats,  cattle  anc 
birds.  There  was  no  oppressed  or  ill-usec 
creature  that  had  not  a friend  in  them,  anc 
their  servants  took  the  same  tone.  If  any  of  the 
village  were  known  to  treat  any  creature  cruelly 
they  soon  heard  about  it  from  the  Hall. 

The  Squire  and  Farmer  Grey  had  workec 
together,  as  they  said,  for  more  than  twenty 
years  to  get  checkreins  on  the  carthorses  done 
away  with,  and  in  our  parts  you  seldom  sav 
them.  Sometimes  if  mistress  met  a heavity 
laden  horse,  with  his  head  strained  up,  she  would 
stop  the  carriage,  and  reason  with  the  driver  ir 
her  sweet,  serious  voice,  and  try  to  show  hiir 
how  foolish  and  cruel  it  was. 

I don’t  think  any  man  could  withstand  otu 
mistress.  I wish  all  ladies  were  like  her.  Oui 

58 


PLAIN  SPEAKING  59 

naster,  too,  used  to  come  down  very  heavy 
ometimes.  I remember  he  was  riding  me 
oward  home  one  morning,  when  we  saw  a 
>owerful  man  driving  toward  us  in  a light  pony 
haise,  with  a beautiful  little  bay  pony,  with 
lender  legs  and  a high-bred,  sensitive  head 
find  face. 

Just  as  he  came  to  the  park  gates,  the  little 
hing  turned  toward  me.  The  man,  without 
yord  or  warning,  wrenched  the  creature’s  head 
ound  with  such  force  and  suddenness  that  he 
learly  threw  it  on  its  haunches.  Recovering 
tself,  it  was  going  on,  when  he  began  to  lash  it 
uriously.  The  pony  plunged  forward,  but  the 
trong,  heavy  hand  held  the  pretty  creature 
>ack  with  force  almost  enough  to  break  its  jaw, 
j/hile  the  whip  still  cut  into  him.  It  was  a dread- 
ul  sight  to  me,  for  I knew  what  fearful  pain 
: gave  that  delicate  little  mouth;  but  master 
*ave  me  the  word,  and  we  were  up  with  him  in 
second. 

“Sawyer,”  he  cried  in  a stern  voice,  “is  that 
ony  made  of  flesh  and  blood?” 

“Flesh  and  blood  and  temper,”  he  said. 
He’s  too  fond  of  his  own  will,  and  that  won’t 
ait  me.”  He  spoke  as  if  he  was  in  a strong 
passion.  He  was  a builder,  who  had  often  been 
3 the  park  on  business. 


60 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“And  do  you  think,”  said  master,  sternly 
“that  treatment  like  this  will  make  him  fond  o: 
your  will?” 

“He  had  no  business  to  make  that  turn;  hi' 
road  was  straight  on!”  said  the  man  roughly 

“You  have  often  driven  that  pony  up  to  mj 
place,”  said  master.  “It  only  shows  the 
creature’s  memory  and  intelligence.  How  die 
he  know  that  you  were  not  going  there  again  i 
But  that  has  little  to  do  with  it.  I must  say. 
Sawyer,  that  more  unmanly,  brutal  treatment  oi 
a little  pony  it  was  never  my  painful  lot  to 
witness;  and  by  giving  way  to  such  passion  you 
injure  your  own  character  as  much,  nay,  more, 
than  you  injure  your  horse.  Remember,  we 
shall  all  have  to  be  judged  according  to  our 
works,  whether  they  be  toward  man  or  toward 
beast.” 

Master  rode  me  home  slowly,  and  I could 
tell  by  his  voice  how  the  thing  had  grieved  him. 
He  was  just  as  free  to  speak  to  gentlemen  of  his 
own  rank  as  to  those  below  him;  for  another 
day,  when  we  were  out,  we  met  a Captain 
Langley,  a friend  of  our  master’s.  He  was 
driving  a splendid  pair  of  grays  in  a kind  of 
brake.  After  a little  conversation  the  Captain 
said: 

“What  do  you  think  of  my  new  team,  Mr. 


PLAIN  SPEAKING  61 

Douglas?  You  are  the  judge  of  horses  in  these 
barts,  and  I should  like  your  opinion.” 

The  master  backed  me  a little,  so  as  to  get 
% good  view  of  them.  “They  are  an  uncommonly 
landsome  pair,”  he  said,  “and  if  they  are  as 
rood  as  they  look,  I am  sure  you  need  not  wish 
(or  anything  better;  but  I see  you  still  hold  that 
>et  scheme  of  yours  for  worrying  your  horses 
,nd  lessening  their  power.” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  said  the  other,  “the 
heckreins?  Oh,  ah!  I know  that’s  a hobby  of 
ours;  well,  the  fact  is,  I like  to  see  my  horses 
old  their  heads  up.” 

“So  do  I,”  said  master,  “as  well  as  any  man, 
iut  I don’t  like  to  see  them  held  up;  that  takes 
11  the  shine  out  of  it.  Now,  you  are  a military 
:ian,  Langley,  and  no  doubt  like  to  see  your 
:3giment  look  well  on  parade,  ‘heads  up,’  and 
11  that;  but  you  would  not  take  much  credit  for 
pur  drill  if  all  your  men  had  their  heads  tied 
i)  a backboard ! It  might  not  be  much  harm  on 
]arade,  except  to  worry  and  fatigue  them;  but 
bw  would  it  be  in  a bayonet  charge  against  the 
demy,  when  they  want  the  free  use  of  every 
i uscle,  and  all  their  strength  thrown  forward? 
3 would  not  give  much  for  their  chance  of 
mtory.  And  it  is  just  the  same  with  horses. 

!:  V fret  and  worry  their  tempers,  and  decrease 

i 


62 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


their  power;  you  will  not  let  them  throw  the: 
weight  against  their  work,  and  so  they  have  t 
do  too  much  with  their  joints  and  muscles,  an 
of  course  it  wears  them  faster. 

“You  may  depend  upon  it,  horses  wei 
intended  to  have  their  heads  free,  as  free  £ 
men’s  are;  and  if  we  could  act  a little  moi 
according  to  common  sense,  and  a good  deal  les 
according  to  fashion,  we  should  find  many  thing 
work  easier.  Besides,  you  know  as  well  as 
that  if  a horse  makes  a false  step,  he  has  muc 
less  chance  of  recovering  himself  if  his  head  an 
neck  are  fastened  back.  And  now,”  said  th 
master,  laughing,  “I  have  given  my  hobby 
good  trot  out,  can’t  you  make  up  your  mind  t 
mount  him  too,  Captain?  Your  example  woul 
go  a long  way.” 

“I  believe  you  are  right  in  theory,”  said  th 
other,  “and  that’s  rather  a hard  hit  about  th 
soldiers;  but — well — I’ll  think  about  it,”  and  s 
they  parted. 


Chapter  XIX 
A STORMY  DAY 

p\NE  day  late  in  the  autumn  my  master 
1/  had  a long  journey  to  go  on  business.  I 
was  put  into  the  dogcart,  and  John  went 
yith  his  master.  I always  liked  to  go  in  the  dog- 
krt,  it  was  so  light,  and  the  high  wheels  ran 
ilong  so  pleasantly.  There  had  been  a great  deal 
<£  rain,  and  now  the  wind  was  very  high  and 
Hew  the  dry  leaves  across  the  road  in  a shower. 

We  went  along  merrily  till  we  came  to  the 
Ml  bar  and  the  low,  wooden  bridge.  The  river 
links  were  rather  high,  and  the  bridge,  instead 
(:  rising,  went  across  just  level,  so  that  in  the 
r iddle,  if  the  river  was  full,  the  water  would  be 
r^arly  up  to  the  woodwork  and  planks;  but  as 
t'ere  were  good  substantial  rails  on  each  side, 
pople  did  not  mind  it. 

The  man  at  the  gate  said  the  river  was 
rsing  fast,  and  he  feared  it  would  be  a bad 
right.  Many  of  the  meadows  were  under  water, 
aid  in  one  low  part  of  the  road  the  water  was 
hlfway  up  to  my  knees;  the  bottom  was  good, 
a d master  drove  gently,  so  it  was  no  matter. 

When  we  got  to  the  town,  of  course  I had 

63 


64 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


a good  bait,  but  as  the  master’s  busines 
engaged  him  a long  time,  we  did  not  start  fo 
home  till  rather  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  win< 
was  then  much  higher,  and  I heard  the  maste 
say  to  John  he  had  never  been  out  in  such  ; 
storm;  and  so  I thought,  as  we  went  along  th 
skirts  of  a wood,  where  the  great  branches  wer 
swaying  about  like  twigs,  and  the  rushinj 
sound  was  terrible. 

“I  wish  we  were  well  out  of  this  wood,”  sail 
my  master. 

“Yes,  sir,”  said  John,  “it  would  be  rathe 
awkward  if  one  of  these  branches  came  down.”! 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mout' 
when  there  was  a groan,  and  a crack,  and 
splitting  sound,  and  tearing,  crashing  dowj 
among  the  other  trees  came  an  oak,  torn  up  b 
the  roots,  and  it  fell  right  across  the  road  jus 
before  us.  I will  never  say  I was  not  frightened 
for  I was.  I stopped  still,  and  trembled.  0 
course  I did  not  turn  round  or  run  away;  I wa 
not  brought  up  to  that.  John  jumped  out,  an 
was  in  a moment  at  my  head. 

“That  was  a very  near  touch,”  said  m 
master.  “What’s  to  be  done  now?” 

“Well,  sir,  we  can’t  drive  over  that  tree,  nc 
yet  get  around  it.  There  will  be  nothing  for 
but  to  go  back  to  the  four  crossways,  and  th£ 


An  oak  fell  right  across  the  road  just  before  us 


66 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


will  be  a good  six  miles  before  we  get  round  t 
the  wooden  bridge  again.  It  will  make  us  lab 
but  the  horse  is  fresh.” 

So  back  we  went  and  round  by  the  crosf 
roads,  but  by  the  time  we  got  back  to  the  bridg 
it  was  very  nearly  dark.  We  could  just  see  the 
the  water  was  over  the  middle  of  it;  but  as  ths 
happened  sometimes  when  the  floods  were  ou 
master  did  not  stop. 

We  were  going  along  at  a good  pace,  bi 
the  moment  my  feet  touched  the  first  part  of  th 
bridge,  I felt  sure  there  was  something  wronj 
and  I made  a dead  stop.  “Go  on,  Beauty,”  sai 
my  master,  and  he  gave  me  a touch  of  the  whij 
but  I dare  not  stir;  he  gave  me  a sharp  cut; 
jumped,  but  I dare  not  go  forward. 

“There’s  something  wrong,  sir,”  said  Johi 
and  he  sprang  out  of  the  dogcart,  and  came  t 
my  head  and  looked  all  about.  He  tried  to  lea 
me  forward.  “Come  on,  Beauty,  what’s  th 
matter?” 

Of  course  I could  not  tell  him,  but  I kne' 
very  well  that  the  bridge  was  not  safe. 

Just  then  a man  at  the  tollgate  on  the  othe 
side  ran  out  of  the  house,  tossing  a torch  aboi 
like  one  mad. 

“Hoy,  hoy,  hoy!  hello!  stop!”  he  cried. 

“What’s  the  matter?”  shouted  my  maste: 


A STORMY  DAY 


67 


“The  bridge  is  broken  in  the  middle,  and 
jart  of  it  is  carried  away;  if  you  come  on  you’ll 
Is  in  the  river.” 

“Thank  God!”  said  my  master. 

“You  Beauty!”  said  John,  and  took  my 
Ifidle  and  gently  turned  me  round  to  the  right- 
land  road  by  the  river  side. 

The  sun  had  set  some  time;  the  wind  seemed 
t>  have  lulled  off  after  that  furious  blast  which 
tre  up  the  tree.  It  grew  darker  and  darker, 
siller  and  stiller.  I trotted  quietly  along,  the 
wheels  hardly  making  a sound  on  the  soft  road, 
lor  a good  while  neither  master  nor  John  spoke, 
ad  then  master  began  in  a serious  voice. 

I could  not  understand  much  of  what  they 
Slid,  but  I found  they  thought,  if  I had  gone  on 
si  the  master  wanted  me,  most  likely  the  bridge 
\'ould  have  given  way  under  us,  and  horse, 
ciaise,  master,  and  man  would  have  fallen  into 
'tie  river.  As  the  current  was  flowing  very 
srongly,  and  there  was  no  light  and  no  help  at 
f ind,  it  was  more  than  likely  we  should  all  have 
ben  drowned.  Master  said  God  had  given  men 
r ason,  by  which  they  could  find  out  things  for 
t emselves;  but  He  had  given  animals  knowl- 
e ge,  which  did  not  depend  on  reason,  and 
viich  was  much  more  perfect  in  its  way,  and  by 
v lich  they  had  often  saved  the  lives  of  men. 


68 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


John  had  many  stories  to  tell  of  dogs  ar 
horses,  and  the  wonderful  things  they  had  don 
He  thought  people  did  not  value  their  anima 
half  enough,  nor  make  friends  of  them  as  the 
ought  to  do.  I am  sure  he  makes  friends  < 
them,  if  ever  a man  did. 

At  last  we  came  to  the  park  gates,  ar 
found  the  gardener  looking  out  for  us.  He  sa: 
that  mistress  had  been  in  a dreadful  way  ev< 
since  dark,  fearing  some  accident  had  happene 
and  that  she  had  sent  James  off  on  Justice,  tl 
roan  cob,  toward  the  bridge  to  make  inquii 
after  us. 

We  saw  a light  at  the  hall  door  and  at  tt 
upper  windows,  and  as  we  came  out  mistress  ra 
out,  saying,  “Are  you  really  safe,  my  dear?  01 
I have  been  so  anxious,  fancying  all  sorts  ( 
things.  Have  you  had  no  accident?” 

“No,  my  dear;  but  if  your  Black  Beaut 
had  not  been  wiser  than  we  were,  we  should  a 
have  been  carried  down  the  river  at  the  woode 
bridge.” 

I heard  no  more,  as  they  went  into  tt 
house,  and  John  took  me  to  the  stable.  Oh,  whs 
a good  supper  he  gave  me  that  night,  a goc 
bran  mash  and  some  crushed  beans  with  n: 
oats,  and  such  a thick  bed  of  straw!  and  I ws 
glad  of  it,  for  I was  tired. 


Chapter  XIII 

THE  DEVIL’S  TRADEMARK 

DNE  day  when  John  and  I had  been  out  on 
some  business  of  my  master’s,  and  were 
returning  gently  on  a long,  straight  road, 
jt  some  distance  we  saw  a boy  trying  to  leap  a 
jony  over  a gate.  The  pony  would  not  take  the 
!iap,  and  the  boy  cut  him  with  the  whip,  but 
!e  only  turned  off  on  one  side.  He  whipped  him 
gain,  but  the  pony  turned  off  on  the  other  side, 
'hen  the  boy  got  off  and  gave  him  a good  hard 
thrashing,  and  knocked  him  about  the  head; 
lien  he  got  up  again  and  tried  to  make  him  leap 
lie  gate,  kicking  him  all  the  time  shamefully, 
Ijit  still  the  pony  refused. 

When  we  were  nearly  at  the  spot,  the  pony 
lut  down  his  head  and  threw  up  his  heels  and 
s;nt  the  boy  neatly  over  into  a broad  quickset 
bdge,  and  with  the  rein  dangling  from  his  head 
b set  off  home  at  a full  gallop.  John  laughed 
at  quite  loud.  “Served  him  right,”  he  said. 

“Oh,  oh,  oh!”  cried  the  boy  as  he  struggled 
siout  among  the  thorns,  “I  say,  come  and  help 
re  out” 


« 


69 


70 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Thank  ye,”  said  John,  “I  think  you  ar 
quite  in  the  right  place,  and  maybe  a littl 
scratching  will  teach  you  not  to  leap  a pony  ove 
a gate  that  is  too  high  for  him,”  and  so  with  tha 
John  rode  off. 

“It  may  be,”  said  he  to  himself,  “that  youn; 
fellow  is  a liar  as  well  as  a cruel  one;  we’ll  jus 
go  home  by  Farmer  Bushby’s,  Beauty,  and  the: 
if  anybody  wants  to  know,  you  and  I can  tell  ’eir 
ye  see.”  So  we  turned  off  to  the  right  and  soo: 
came  up  to  the  stack  yard,  and  within  sight  o 
the  house.  The  farmer  was  hurrying  out  int 
the  road,  and  his  wife  was  standing  at  the  gab 
looking  very  frightened. 

“Have  you  seen  my  boy?”  said  Mr.  Bushbj 
as  we  came  up.  “He  went  out  an  hour  ago  o 
my  black  pony,  and  the  creature  is  just  com 
back  without  a rider.” 

“I  should  think,  sir,”  said  John,  “he  ha 
better  be  without  a rider,  unless  he  can  be  ridde 
properly.” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  asked  the  farme: 

“Well,  sir,  I saw  your  son  whipping  an 
kicking  and  knocking  that  good  little  pon 
about  shamefully,  because  he  would  not  leap 
gate  that  was  too  high  for  him.  The  pon 
behaved  well,  sir,  and  showed  no  vice;  but  at  las 
he  just  threw  up  his  heels,  and  tipped  the  youn 


THE  DEVIL’S  TRADEMARK  71 


rentleman  into  the  thorn  hedge.  He  wanted 
ne  to  help  him  out;  but,  I hope  you  will  excuse 
'ne,  sir,  I did  not  feel  inclined  to  do  so.  There 
ire  no  bones  broken,  sir,  he’ll  only  get  a few 
.cratches.  I love  horses,  and  it  riles  me  to  see 
hem  badly  used.  It  is  a bad  plan  to  aggravate 
in  animal  till  he  uses  his  heels;  the  first  time  is 
lot  always  the  last.” 

During  this  time  the  mother  began  to  cry, 
Oh,  my  poor  Bill,  I must  go  and  meet  him;  he 
Qust  be  hurt.” 

“You  had  better  go  into  the  house,  wife,” 
aid  the  farmer.  “Bill  wants  a lesson  about 
his,  and  I must  see  that  he  gets  it.  This  is  not 
he  first  time,  nor  the  second,  that  he  has  ill-used 
hat  pony,  and  I shall  stop  it.  I am  much 
bliged  to  you,  Manly.  Good  evening.” 

So  he  went  on,  John  chuckling  all  the  way 
ome;  then  he  told  James  about  it,  who  laughed 
nd  said: 

“Served  him  right.  I knew  that  boy  at 
pool ; he  took  great  airs  on  himself  because  he 
fas  a farmer’s  son.  He  used  to  swagger  about 
jpd  bully  the  little  boys.  Of  course  we  elder 
(ies  would  not  have  any  of  that  nonsense,  and 
t him  know  that  in  the  school  and  the  play- 
ground, farmers’  sons  and  laborers’  sons  were 
i l alike. 


72 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“I  well  remember  one  day,  just  before 
afternoon  school,  I found  him  at  a large  window 
catching  flies  and  pulling  off  their  wings.  He 
did  not  see  me,  and  I gave  him  a box  on  the  ears 
that  laid  him  sprawling  on  the  floor.  Well 
angry  as  I was,  I was  almost  frightened,  he 
roared  and  bellowed  in  such  a style.  The  boys 
rushed  in  from  the  playground,  and  the  mastei 
ran  in  from  the  road  to  see  who  was  being 
murdered.  Of  course,  I said  fair  and  square  at 
once  what  I had  done,  and  why.  Then  I showec 
the  master  the  flies,  some  crushed  and  some 
crawling  about  helpless,  and  I showed  him  the 
wings  on  the  window  sill. 

“I  never  saw  him  so  angry  before;  but  as 
Bill  was  still  howling  and  whining,  like  the 
coward  that  he  was,  he  did  not  give  him  anj 
more  punishment  of  that  kind,  but  set  him  up 
on  a stool  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  and  saic 
that  he  should  not  go  out  to  play  for  that  week 

“Then  he  talked  to  all  the  boys  very  seri 
ously  about  cruelty,  and  said  how  hard-heartec 
and  cowardly  it  was  to  hurt  the  weak  and  the 
helpless.  But  what  stuck  in  my  mind  was  this : he 
said  that  cruelty  was  the  devil’s  own  trademark 
and  if  we  saw  anyone  who  took  pleasure  ir 
cruelty  we  might  know  who  he  belonged  to,  foi 
the  devil  was  a murderer  from  the  beginning 


THE  DEVIL'S  TRADEMARK  73 


ind  a tormentor  to  the  end.  On  the  other  hand, 
Vhere  we  saw  people  who  loved  their  neighbors, 
tnd  were  kind  to  man  and  beast,  we  might  know 
hat  was  God's  mark,  for  ‘God  is  Love.'  ” 

“Your  master  never  taught  a truer  thing,” 
‘aid  John,  “there  is  no  religion  without  love, 
md  people  may  talk  as  much  as  they  like  about 
heir  religion,  but  if  it  does  not  teach  them  to  be 
rood  and  kind  to  man  and  beast  it  is  all  a sham 
— all  a sham,  James,  and  it  won’t  stand  when 
hings  come  to  be  turned  inside  out,  and  put 
lown  for  what  they  are.” 


i 


i 


Chapter  XIV 
JAMES  HOWARD 

ONE  morning  early  in  December  John  hat 
just  led  me  into  my  box  after  my  dail; 
exercise,  and  was  strapping  my  clot’! 
on,  and  James  was  coming  in  from  the  cor] 
chamber  with  some  oats,  when  the  master  cam 
into  the  stable.  He  looked  rather  serious,  am 
held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  John  fasten e< 
the  door  of  my  box,  touched  his  cap,  and  waite< 
for  orders. 

“Good  morning,  John,”  said  the  master,  “ 
want  to  know  if  you  have  any  complaint  to  mak 
of  James?” 

“Complaint,  sir?  No,  sir.” 

“Is  he  industrious  at  his  work  am 
respectful  to  you?” 

“Yes,  sir,  always.” 

“He  never  slights  his  work  when  your  bad 
is  turned?” 

“Never,  sir.” 

“That’s  well;  but  I must  put  anothe 
question:  have  you  no  reason  to  suspect,  whe: 
he  takes  the  horses  to  exercise  them*  or  to  tak 

74 

/ 


JAMES  HOWARD 


75 


i message,  that  he  stops  about,  talking  to  his 
.cquaintances,  or  goes  into  houses  where  he  has 
10  business,  leaving  the  horses  outside?” 

“No,  sir,  certainly  not;  and  if  anybody  has 
>een  saying  that  about  James  I don’t  believe  it, 
nd  I don’t  mean  to  believe  it  unless  I have  it 
airly  proved  before  witnesses.  It’s  not  for  me 
o say  who  has  been  trying  to  take  away  James’s 
haracter,  but  I will  say  this,  sir,  that  a steadier, 
ileasanter,  honester,  smarter  young  fellow  I 
Lever  had  in  this  stable.  I can  trust  his  word 
md  I can  trust  his  work.  He  is  gentle  and  clever 
frith  the  horses,  and  I would  rather  have  them 
n charge  with  him  than  with  half  the  young 
ellows  I know  of  in  laced  hats  and  liveries. 
Vhoever  wants  a character  of  James  Howard,” 
aid  John,  with  a decided  jerk  of  his  head,  “let 
iim  come  to  John  Manly.” 

The  master  stood  all  this  time  grave  and 
ttentive,  but  as  John  finished  his  speech  a 
road  smile  spread  over  his  face,  and  looking 
:indly  at  James,  who  all  this  time  stood  still  at 
he  door,  he  said: 

“James,  my  lad,  set  down  the  oats  and  come 
ere.  I am  very  glad  to  find  that  John’s  opinion 
f your  character  agrees  so  exactly  with  my 
wn.  John  is  a cautious  man,”  he  said,  with  a 
roll  smile,  “and  it  is  not  always  easy  to  get  his 


76 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


opinion  about  people,  so  I thought  if  I beat  tl 
bush  on  this  side  the  birds  would  fly  out,  and 
should  learn  what  I wanted  to  know.  So  no- 
we  will  come  to  business. 

“I  have  a letter  from  my  brother-in-la\ 
Sir  Clifford  Williams.  He  wants  me  to  find  hii 
a trustworthy  young  groom,  about  twenty,  wh 
knows  his  business.  His  old  coachman,  who  ha 
lived  with  him  thirty  years,  is  getting  feebL 
and  he  wants  a man  to  work  with  him  and  g( 
into  his  ways  who  would  be  able,  when  the  ol 
man  is  pensioned  off,  to  step  into  his  place.  H 
would  have  eighteen  shillings  a week  at  first, 
stable  suit,  a driving  suit,  a bedroom  over  th 
coachhouse,  and  a boy  under  him.  Sir  Cliffor 
is  a good  master,  and  if  you  could  get  the  plac 
it  would  be  a good  start  for  you.  I don’t  war 
to  part  with  you,  and  if  you  left  us  I know  Joh 
would  lose  his  right  hand.” 

“That  I should,  sir,”  said  John,  “but  I woul 
not  stand  in  his  light  for  the  world.” 

“How  old  are  you,  James?”  said  his  mastei 
“Nineteen  next  May,  sir.” 

“That’s  young;  what  do  you  think,  John? 
“Well,  sir,  it  is  young;  but  he  is  as  stead 
as  a man,  and  is  strong  and  well  grown,  an 
though  he  has  not  had  much  experience  i: 
driving,  has  a light,  firm  hand  and  a quick  ey* 


JAMES  HOWARD 


77 


ind  he  is  very  careful.  I am  quite  sure  no  horse 
if  his  will  be  ruined  for  want  of  having  his  feet 
md  shoes  looked  after.” 

“Your  word  will  go  the  furthest,  John,”  said 
lie  master,  “for  Sir  Clifford  adds  in  a postscript, 
‘:f  I could  find  a man  trained  by  your  John,  I 
nould  like  him  better  than  any  other.’  So 
eames,  lad,  think  it  over,  talk  to  your  mother  at 
(inner  time,  and  then  let  me  know  what  you 
fish.” 

In  a few  days  after  this  conversation,  it  was 
illy  settled  that  James  should  go  to  Clifford 
tail  in  a month  or  six  weeks,  as  it  suited  his 
master,  and  in  the  meantime  he  was  to  get  all 
he  practice  in  driving  that  could  be  given  to  him. 
] never  knew  the  carriage  to  go  out  so  often 
More.  When  the  mistress  did  not  go  out  the 
raster  drove  himself  in  the  two-wheeled  chaise; 
lot  now,  whether  it  was  master  or  the  young 
Mies,  or  only  an  errand,  Ginger  and  I were  put 
I the  carriage  and  James  drove  us.  At  first 
ti)hn  rode  with  him  on  the  box,  telling  him  this 
aid  that,  and  after  that  James  drove  alone. 

Then  it  was  wonderful  what  a number  of 
races  the  master  would  go  to  in  the  city  on 
hturday,  and  what  queer  streets  we  were 
eiven  through.  He  was  sure  to  go  to  the  rail- 
way station  just  as  the  train  was  coming  in,  and 


78 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


cabs  and  carriages,  carts  and  omnibuses,  wei 
all  trying  to  get  over  the  bridge  together.  Ths. 
bridge  needed  good  horses  and  good  drive: 
when  the  railway  bell  was  ringing,  for  it  wa 
narrow,  and  there  was  a very  sharp  turn  up  1 
the  station,  where  it  would  not  have  been  at  a 
difficult  for  people  to  run  into  each  other,  if  the 
did  not  look  sharp  and  keep  their  wits  aboi 
them. 


Chapter  XV 
THE  OLD  HOSTLER 


; A FTER  this  it  was  decided  by  my  master  and 
ii  JL  mistress  to  pay  a visit  to  some  friends  who 
lived  about  forty-six  miles  from  our  home, 
ad  James  was  to  drive  them.  The  first  day  we 
taveled  thirty-two  miles.  There  were  some 
lng,  heavy  hills,  but  James  drove  so  carefully 
ad  thoughtfully  that  we  were  not  at  all 
hrassed.  He  never  forgot  to  put  on  the  brake 
si  we  went  downhill,  nor  to  take  it  off  at 
fie  right  place.  He  kept  our  feet  on  the 
moothest  part  of  the  road,  and  if  the  uphill  was 
\)ry  long,  he  set  the  carriage  wheels  a little 
£:ross  the  road,  so  as  not  to  run  back,  and  gave 
i>  a breathing.  All  these  little  things  help  a 
brse  very  much,  particularly  if  he  gets  kind 
vords  into  the  bargain. 

We  stopped  once  or  twice  on  the  road,  and 
j st  as  the  sun  was  going  down  we  reached  the 
twn  where  we  were  to  spend  the  night.  We 
sopped  at  the  principal  hotel,  which  was  in  the 
rarket  place.  It  was  a very  large  one.  We 
c ove  under  an  archway  into  a long  yard,  at  the 


80 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


farther  end  of  which  were  the  stables  and  coac.. 
houses.  Two  hostlers  came  to  take  us  out. 

The  head  hostler  was  a pleasant,  acthi 
little  man,  with  a crooked  leg  and  a yello* 
striped  waistcoat.  I never  saw  a man  unbuck! 
harness  so  quickly  as  he  did,  and  with  a pat  ar. 
a good  word  he  led  me  to  a long  stable,  with  s:: 
or  eight  stalls  in  it  and  two  or  three  horses.  TM 
other  man  brought  Ginger.  James  stood  t 
while  we  were  rubbed  down  and  cleaned. 

I never  was  cleaned  so  lightly  and  quick 
as  by  that  old  man.  When  he  had  done,  Jam* 
stepped  up  and  felt  me  over,  as  if  he  thought 
could  not  be  thoroughly  done,  but  he  found  rr 
coat  as  clean  and  smooth  as  silk. 

“Well,”  he  said,  “I  thought  I was  prett 
quick,  and  our  John  quicker  still,  but  you  c 
beat  all  1 ever  saw  for  being  quick  and  thoroug 
at  the  same  time.” 

“Practice  makes  perfect,”  said  the  crooke 
little  hostler,  “and  ’twould  be  a pity  if  it  didn’ 
Forty  years’  practice,  and  not  perfect!  ha,  hs 
that  would  be  a pity;  and,  as  to  being  quick,  wh; 
bless  you!  that  is  only  a matter  of  habit.  If  yo 
get  into  the  habit  of  being  quick,  it  is  just  £ 
easy  as  being  slow;  easier,  I should  say;  in  fac 
it  don’t  agree  with  my  health  to  be  hulkin 
about  over  a job  twice  as  long  as  it  need  tak< 


less  you!  I couldn’t  whistle  if  I crawled  over 
ry  work  as  some  folks  do! 

“You  see,  I have  been  about  horses  ever 
isnce  I was  twelve  years  old,  in  hunting  stables 
ad  racing  stables;  and  being  small,  ye  see,  I 
ivas  jockey  for  several  years.  But  at  the  Good- 
wood, ye  see,  the  turf  was  very  slippery  and  my 
[por  Larkspur  got  a fall,  and  I broke  my  knee, 
sad  so,  of  course,  I was  of  no  more  use  there. 
Eit  I could  not  live  without  horses,  of  course  I 
Muldn’t,  so  I took  to  the  hotels.  And  I can  tell 
it  is  a downright  pleasure  to  handle  an  animal 
like  this,  well-bred,  well-mannered,  well-cared 
Ir;  bless  ye!  I can  tell  how  a horse  is  treated. 
Cve  me  the  handling  of  a horse  for  twenty 
ninutes,  and  I’ll  tell  you  what  sort  of  groom 
h has  had. 

J j “Look  at  this  one,  pleasant,  quiet,  turns 
a>out  just  as  you  want  him,  holds  up  his  feet  to 
m cleaned  out,  or  anything  else  you  please  to 
ivfsh.  Then  you’ll  find  another  fidgety,  fretty, 
fen’t  move  the  right  way,  or  starts  across  the 
sail,  tosses  up  his  head  as  soon  as  you  come  near 
hm,  lays  his  ears,  and  seems  afraid  of  you,  or 
e se  squares  about  at  you  with  his  heels, 
j j “Poor  things!  I know  what  sort  of  treat- 
ment they  have  had.  If  they  are  timid,  it  makes 
item  start  or  shy;  if  they  are  high-mettled,  it 


82 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


makes  them  vicious  or  dangerous;  their  tempe 
are  mostly  made  when  they  are  young.  Ble 
you!  they  are  like  children;  train  ’em  up  in  tl 
way  they  should  go,  as  the  Good  Book  says,  ai 
when  they  are  old  they  will  not  depart  from  : 
if  they  have  a chance,  that  is.” 

“X  like  to  hear  you  talk,”  said  James,  “that, 
the  way  we  lay  it  down  at  home,  at  our  master’s 

“Who  is  your  master,  young  man?  if  it  1 
a proper  question.  I judge  he  is  a good  one  fro 
what  I see.” 

“He  is  Squire  Gordon,  of  Birtwick  Park,  tl- 
other  side  the  Beacon  hills,”  said  James. 

“Ah!  so,  so;  I have  heard  tell  of  him;  fin 
judge  of  horses,  isn’t  he? — the  best  rider  in  tl 
country?” 

“I  believe  he  is,”  said  James,  “but  he  rid 
very  little  now,  since  the  poor  young  master  w; 
killed.” 

“Ah!  poor  gentleman;  I read  all  about: 
in  the  paper  at  the  time;  a fine  horse  killed,  to 
wasn’t  there?” 

“Yes,”  said  James,  “he  was  a splend 
creature,  brother  to  this  one,  and  just  like  him 

“Pity!  pity!”  said  the  old  man,  “’twas. 
bad  place  to  leap,  if  I remember;  a thin  fen" 
at  top,  a steep  bank  down  to  the  stream,  wasr: 
it?  no  chance  for  a horse  to  see  where  he 


THE  OLD  HOSTLER 


83 


ping.  Now,  I am  for  bold  riding  as  much  as 
ay  man,  but  still  there  are  some  leaps  that  only 
a very  knowing  old  huntsman  has  any  right  to 
tke.  A man’s  life  and  a horse’s  life  are  worth 
rore  than  a fox’s  tail;  at  least  I should  say  they 
eight  to  be.” 

During  this  time  the  other  man  had  finished 
(inger  and  had  brought  our  corn,  and  James 
aid  the  old  man  left  the  stable  together. 


Chapter  XVI 
THE  FIRE 


LATER  on  in  the  evening  a traveler’s  hor: 
y was  brought  in  by  the  second  hostler,  ar 
while  he  was  cleaning  him  a young  ms 
with  a pipe  in  his  mouth  lounged  into  the  stab 
to  gossip. 

“I  say,  Towler,”  said  the  hostler,  “just  m 
up  the  ladder  into  the  loft  and  put  some  ha 
down  into  this  horse’s  rack,  will  you?  only,  la 
down  your  pipe.” 

“All  right,”  said  the  other,  and  went  v 
through  the  trapdoor,  and  I heard  him  sto 
across  the  floor  overhead  and  put  down  the  ha, 
James  came  in  to  look  at  us  the  last  thing,  ail 
then  the  door  was  locked. 

I cannot  say  how  long  I had  slept,  nor  wh; 
time  in  the  night  it  was,  but  I woke  up  ve:; 
uncomfortable,  though  I hardly  knew  why.  I 
got  up;  the  air  seemed  all  thick  and  choking.  ( 
heard  Ginger  coughing,  and  one  of  the  oth: 
horses  seemed  very  restless.  It  was  quite  dar, 
and  I could  see  nothing,  but  the  stable  seeml 
full  of  smoke,  and  I could  hardly  breathe. 

84 


THE  FIRE 


85 


The  trapdoor  had  been  left  open,  and  I 
t ought  it  was  the  place  it  came  through.  I 
litened,  and  heard  a soft,  rushing  sort  of  noise, 
aid  a low  crackling  and  snapping.  I did  not 
kiow  what  it  was,  but  there  was  something  in 
tje  sound  so  strange  that  it  made  me  tremble 
M over.  The  other  horses  were  now  all  awake; 
sjme  were  pulling  at  their  halters,  others  were 
samping. 

At  last  I heard  steps  outside,  and  the  hostler 
wio  had  put  up  the  traveler’s  horse  burst  into 
tie  stable  with  a lantern,  and  began  to  untie  the 
torses  and  try  to  lead  them  out;  but  he  seemed 
ii  such  a hurry  and  so  frightened  himself  that 
bji  frightened  me  still  more.  The  first  horse 
would  not  go  with  him;  he  tried  the  second  and 
ilrd,  and  they,  too,  would  not  stir.  He  came  to 
•oe  next  and  tried  to  drag  me  out  of  the  stall  by 
fir ce;  of  course  that  was  no  use.  He  tried  us  all 
6 turns,  and  then  left  the  stable. 

! No  doubt  we  were  very  foolish,  but  danger 
seined  to  be  all  round,  and  there  was  nobody  we 
* ew  to  trust  in,  and  all  was  strange  and  uncer- 
Mn.  The  fresh  air  that  had  come  in  through 
open  door  made  it  easier  to  breathe,  but  the 
jfihing  sound  overhead  grew  louder,  and  as  I 
.C)ked  upward,  through  the  bars  of  my  empty 

rfck,  I saw  a red  light  flickering  on  the  wall. 
? 


86 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


Then  I heard  a cry  of  “Fire!”  outside,  and  t; 
old  hostler  quietly  and  quickly  came  in.  He  g\ 
one  horse  out,  and  went  to  another,  but  t= 
flames  were  playing*  round  the  trapdoor,  a: 3 
the  roaring  overhead  was  dreadful. 

The  next  thing  I heard  was  James’s  voi<, 
quiet  and  cheery. 

“Come,  my  beauties,  it  is  time  for  us  to  = 
off,  so  wake  up  and  come  along.”  I stood  new- 
est the  door,  so  he  came  to  me  first,  patting  r: 
as  he  came  in. 

“Come,  Beauty,  on  with  your  bridle,  r, 
boy;  we  will  soon  be  out  of  this  smother.” 

It  was  on  in  no  time.  Then  he  took  t: 
scarf  off  his  neck  and  tied  it  lightly  over  r, 
eyes,  and  patting  and  coaxing,  he  led  me  out  I 
the  stable.  Safe  in  the  yard,  he  slipped  the  seal 
off' my  eyes  and  shouted,  “Here,  somebody!  tal 
this  horse  while  I go  back  for  the  other.” 

A tall,  broad  man  took  me,  and  Jam; 
darted  back  in  the  stable.  I set  up  a shrl 
whinny  as  I saw  him  go.  Ginger  told  me  a f to- 
wards, that  whinny  was  the  best  thing  I cou3 
have  done  for  her,  for  had  she  not  heard  r; 
outside  she  would  never  have  had  the  coura.i 
to  come  out. 

There  was  much  confusion  in  the  yard  wh ; 
the  horses  were  being  got  out  of  other  stable, 


THE  FIRE 


87 


jhd  the  carriages  and  gigs  were  being  pulled 
(lit  of  houses  and  sheds,  lest  the  flames  should 
Dread  farther.  On  the  other  side  of  the  yard 
vindows  were  thrown  up,  and  the  people  were 
aouting  all  sorts  of  things,  but  I kept  my  eye 
fced  on  the  stable  door,  where  the  smoke  poured 
at  thick,  and  I could  see  flashes  of  red  light. 


I heard  above  all  the  stir  and  din  a 


lua,  clear  voice,  which  I knew  was  master’s: 
“James  Howard!  James  Howard!  Are 
yu  there?” 

There  was  no  answer,  but  I heard  a crash 
c something  falling  in  the  stable,  and  the  next 
roment  I gave  a loud,  joyful  neigh,  for  I saw 
Junes  coming  through  the  smoke  leading  Gin- 
g>r  with  him;  she  was  coughing  violently,  and 
h was  not  able  to  speak. 

“My  brave  lad!”  said  master,  laying  his 
hnd  on  his  shoulder,  “are  you  hurt?”  James 
3.00k  his  head,  for  he  could  not  yet  speak. 

“Ay,”  said  the  big  man  who  held  me,  “he 
ha  brave  lad,  and  no  mistake.” 

“And  now,”  said  master,  “when  you  have 
gt  your  breath,  James,  we’ll  get  out  of  this 
p ice  as  quickly  as  we  can.” 

We  were,  moving  toward  the  entry,  when 
fim  the  market  place  there  came  a sound  of 
glloping  feet  and  loud,  rumbling  wheels. 


88 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“ ’Tis  the  fire  engine!  the  fire  engine! 
shouted  two  or  three  voices,  “stand  back,  mat 
way!”  and  clattering  and  thundering  over  tl 
stones  two  horses  dashed  into  the  yard  with  tl 
heavy  engine  behind  them.  The  firemen  leapt 
to  the  ground;  there  was  no  need  to  ask  whe] 
the  fire  was — it  was  rolling  up  in  a great  bla: 
from  the  roof. 

We  got  out  as  fast  as  we  could  into  tl 
broad,  quiet  market  place;  the  stars  were  shii 
ing,  and,  except  the  noise  behind  us,  all  w* 
still.  Master  led  the  way  to  a large  hotel  on  tl 
other  side,  and  as  soon  as  the  hostler  came  1 
said: 

“James,  I must  now  hasten  to  your  mi 
tress;  I trust  the  horses  entirely  to  you;  ord< 
whatever  you  think  is  needed,”  and  with  th; 
he  was  gone.  The  master  did  not  run,  but 
never  saw  mortal  man  walk  so  fast  as  he  did  th; 
night. 

There  was  a dreadful  sound  before  we  g 
into  our  stalls.  The  shrieks  of  those  poor  hors; 
left  burning  in  the  stable.  It  was  very  terribl. 
and  made  Ginger  and  me  feel  very  badly. 
were  taken  in  and  well  done  by. 

The  next  morning  the  master  came  to  s1 
how  we  were  and  to  speak  to  James.  I did  n: 
hear  much,  for  the  hostler  was  rubbing  me  dow, 


THE  FIRE 


89 


1 1 could  see  that  James  looked  very  happy, 
d I thought  the  master  was  proud  of  him.  Our 
distress  had  been  so  much  alarmed  in  the  night 
nat  the  journey  was  put  off  till  the  afternoon, 
0 James  had  the  morning  on  hand,  and  went 
fest  to  the  inn  to  see  about  our  harness  and  the 
carriage,  and  then  to  hear  more  about  the  fire. 
Yhen  he  came  back,  we  heard  him  tell  the 
stler  about  it. 

At  first  no  one  could  guess  how  the  fire  had 
en  caused,  but  at  last  a man  said  he  saw  Dick 
wler  go  into  the  stable  with  a pipe  in  his 
routh,  and  when  he  came  out  he  did  not  have 
cie,  and  went  to  the  tap  for  another.  Then  the 
nder  hostler  said  he  had  asked  Dick  to  go  up 
tie  ladder  to  put  down  some  hay,  but  told  him 
u lay  down  his  pipe  first.  Dick  denied  taking 
t e pipe  with  him,  but  no  one  believed  him.  I 
rmember  our  John  Manly’s  rule,  never  to  allow 
a pipe  in  the  stable,  and  thought  it  ought  to  be 
te  rule  everywhere. 

i James  said  the  roof  and  floor  had  all  fallen 
ii,  and  that  only  the  black  walls  were  standing, 
fce  two  poor  horses  that  could  not  be  got  out 
wire  buried  under  the  burned  rafters  and  tiles. 


Chapter  XVII 

JOHN  MANLY’S  TALK 

THE  rest  of  our  journey  was  very  easy,  ar. 
a little  after  sunset  we  reached  the  hous 
of  my  master’s  friend.  We  were  take 
into  a clean,  snug  stable;  there  was  a kir 
coachman,  who  made  us  comfortable,  and  wl 
seemed  to  think  a good  deal  of  James  when  1 
heard  about  the  fire. 

“There  is  one  thing  quite  clear,  your 
man,”  he  said,  “your  horses  know  whom  the 
can  trust.  It  is  one  of  the  hardest  things  in  tl 
world  to  get  horses  out  of  a stable  when  the: 
is  either  a fire  or  a flood.  I don’t  know  why  the 
won’t  come  out,  but  they  won’t — not  one  i 
twenty.” 

We  stopped  two  or  three  days  at  this  plae 
and  then  returned  home.  All  went  well  on  tl 
journey;  we  were  glad  to  be  in  our  own  stab 
again,  and  John  was  equally  glad  to  see  us. 

Before  he  and  James  left  us  for  the  nigl 
James  said,  “I  wonder  who  is  coming  in  rr 
place.” 

“Little  Joe  Green  at  the  Lodge,”  said  Joh: 

90 


JOHN  MANLY’S  TALK  91 


“Little  Joe  Green!  why  he’s  a child!” 

“He  is  fourteen  and  a half,”  said  John. 
“But  he  is  such  a little  chap!” 

“Yes,  he  is  small,  but  he  is  quick,  and  wili- 
ng, and  kind-hearted,  too.  He  wishes  very 
nuch  to  come,  and  his  father  would  like  it;  and 
Iknow  the  master  would  like  to  give  him  the 
ciance.  He  said  if  I thought  he  would  not  do, 
h would  look  out  for  a bigger  boy;  but  I said 
Iwas  quite  agreeable  to  try  him  for  six  weeks.” 
“Six  weeks?”  said  James,  “why,  it  will  be 
sx  months  before  he  can  be  of  much  use!  It 
mil  make  you  a deal  of  work,  John.” 

“Well,”  said  John,  with  a laugh,  “work  and 
Iare  very  good  friends;  I never  was  afraid  of 
Vork  yet.” 

“You  are  a very  good  man,”  said  James; 
?!  wish  I may  ever  be  like  you.” 

“I  don’t  often  speak  of  myself,”  said  John, 
“)ut  as  you  are  going  away  from  us  out  into  the 
vbrld,  to  shift  for  yourself,  I’ll  just  tell  you  how 
Ilook  on  these  things.  I was  just  as  old  as 
Jiseph  when  my  father  and  mother  died  of  the 
f ver,  within  ten  days  of  each  other,  and  left  me 
aid  my  crippled  sister  Nelly  alone  in  the  world, 
v thout  a relation  that  we  could  look  to  for  help. 

“I  was  a farmer’s  boy,  not  earning  enough 
t keep  myself,  much  less  both  of  us,  and  she 


92 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


must  have  gone  to  the  workhouse  but  for  ou 
mistress  (Nelly  calls  her  her  angel,  and  she  ha 
good  right  to  do  so).  The  mistress  went  an 
hired  a room  for  her  with  old  Widow  Mallet,  an 
she  gave  her  knitting  and  needlework  when  sh 
was  able  to  do  it.  When  she  was  ill  she  sent  he 
dinners  and  many  nice,  comfortable  things,  an 
was  like  a mother  to  her. 

“Then  the  master  took  me  into  the  stab! 
under  old  Norman,  the  coachman  that  was,  thei 
I had  my  food  at  the  house  and  my  bed  in  th 
loft,  and  a suit  of  clothes,  and  three  shillings 
week,  so  that  I could  help  Nelly.  Norman  migt 
have  turned  round  and  said  that  at  his  age  h 
could  not  be  troubled  with  a raw  boy  from  th 
plow-tail,  but  he  was  like  a father  to  me,  an 
took  no  end  of  pains  with  me.  When  the  ol 
man  died  some  years  after,  I stepped  into  hi 
place,  and  now  of  course  I have  top  wages,  an 
can  lay  by  for  a rainy  day  or  a sunny  day,  as  i 
may  happen,  and  Nelly  is  as  happy  as  a bird. 

“So  you  see,  James,  I am  not  the  man  tha 
should  turn  up  his  nose  at  a little  boy,  and  ve 
a good,  kind  master.  No,  no!  I shall  miss  yo 
very  much,  James,  but  we  shall  pull  througl 
There’s  nothing  like  doing  a kindness  when  ’ti 
put  in  your  way,  and  I am  glad  I can  do  it.” 

“Then,”  said  James,  “you  don’t  hold  wit 


JOHN  MANLY’S  TALK  93 

hat  saying,  ‘Everybody  look  after  himself,  and 
ake  care  of  number  one/  ” 

“No,  indeed,”  said  John.  “Where  should 
Jelly  and  I have  been  if  master  and  mistress  and 
ttd  Norman  had  only  taken  care  of  number  one? 
Vhy,  she  in  the  workhouse,  and  I hoeing  tur- 
ips!  WThere  would  Black  Beauty  and  Ginger 
ave  been  if  you  had  only  thought  of  number 
me?  Why,  roasted  to  death!  No,  Jim,  no!  that 
5 a selfish,  heathenish  saying,  whoever  uses  it. 
my  man  who  thinks  he  has  nothing  to  do  but 
ake  care  of  number  one,  why,  it’s  a pity  but 
fhat  he  had  been  drowned  like  a puppy  or  kitten 
More  he  got  his  eyes  open  — that’s  what  I 
pink,”  said  John,  with  a very  decided  jerk  of 
j is  head. 

James  laughed  at  this;  but  there  was  a 
iiickness  in  his  voice  when  he  said,  “You  have 
Seen  my  best  friend  except  my  mother;  I hope 
jbu  won’t  forget  me.” 

“No,  lad,  no!”  said  John,  “and  if  ever  I can 
p you  a good  turn,  I hope  you  won’t  forget  me.” 
The  next  day  Joe  came  to  the  stables  to 
ljarn  all  he  could  before  James  left.  He  learned 
tj>  sweep  the  stable,  to  bring  in  the  straw  and 
lily.  He  began  to  clean  the  harness,  and  helped 
t wash  the  carriage.  As  he  was  quite  too  short 
t do  anything  in  the  way  of  grooming  Ginger 


94 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


and  me,  James  taught  him  upon  Merrylegs,  fo: 
he  was  to  have  full  charge  of  him,  under  John 
He  was  a nice,  bright  little  fellow,  and  alway; 
came  whistling  to  his  work. 

Merrylegs  was  a good  deal  put  out  at  beini 
“mauled  about,”  as  he  said,  “by  a boy  who  knev 
nothing”;  but  toward  the  end  of  the  second  wee! 
he  told  me  confidentially  that  he  thought  the  bo; 
would  turn  out  well. 

At  last  the  day  came  when  James  had  t 
leave  us;  cheerful  as  he  always  was,  he  looket 
quite  downhearted  that  morning. 

“You  see,”  he  said  to  John,  “I  am  leaving 
a great  deal  behind;  my  mother,  and  Betsy,  an< 
you,  and  a good  master  and  mistress,  and  the: 
the  horses,  and  my  old  Merrylegs.  At  the  ne^ 
place  there  will  not  be  a soul  that  I shall  knov 
If  it  were  not  that  I shall  get  a higher  place,  am 
be  able  to  help  my  mother  better,  I don’t  think 
should  have  made  up  my  mind  to  it.  It  is  a rea 
pinch,  John.” 

“Ay,  James,  lad,  so  it  is;  but  I should  no 
think  much  of  you  if  you  could  leave  your  horn 
for  the  first  time  and  not  feel  it.  Cheer  up,  you’] 
make  friends  there,  and  if  you  get  on  well,  as 
am  sure  you  will,  it  will  be  a fine  thing  for  you 
mother,  and  she  will  be  proud  enough  that  yo' 
have  got  such  a good  place  as  that.” 


JOHN  MANLY’S  TALK  95 


So  John  cheered  him  up,  but  everyone  was 
orry  to  lose  James.  As  for  Merrylegs,  he  pined 
fter  him  for  several  days,  and  went  quite  off 
'is  appetite.  So  John  took  him  out  several 
jiornings  with  a leading  rein,  when  he  exercised 
:.ie,  and,  trotting  and  galloping  by  my  side,  got 
•p  the  little  fellow’s  spirits,  and  he  was  soon  all 
ight. 

Joe’s  father  would  often  come  in  and  give  a 
jjttle  help,  as  he  understood  the  work,  and  Joe 
iok  a great  deal  of  pains  to  learn,  and  John  was 
mite  encouraged  about  him. 

* 


: I 

I 

; 

] 

" i 


Chapter  XVIII 

GOING  FOR  THE  DOCTOR 

ONE  night,  a few  days  after  James  had  left 
I had  eaten  my  hay  and  was  lying  dow: 
in  my  straw  fast  asleep,  when  I was  sud 
denly  roused  by  the  stable  bell  ringing  ver 
loudly.  I heard  the  door  of  John’s  house  oper 
and  his  feet  running  up  to  the  Hall.  He  wa 
back  again  in  no  time;  he  unlocked  the  stabl 
door,  and  came  in,  calling  out,  “Wake  u{ 
Beauty!  you  must  go  well  now,  if  ever  you  did” 
and  almost  before  I could  think  he  had  got  th 
saddle  on  my  back  and  the  bridle  on  my  heac 
He  just  ran  around  for  his  coat,  and  then  too: 
me  at  a quick  trot  up  to  the  Hall  door.  Th 
Squire  stood  there,  with  a lamp  in  his  hand. 

“Now,  John,”  he  said,  “ride  for  your  life— 
that  is,  for  your  mistress’s  life;  there  is  not ; 
moment  to  lose.  Give  this  note  to  Dr.  White 
give  your  horse  a rest  at  the  inn,  and  be  back  a 
soon  as  you  can.” 

John  said,  “Yes,  sir,”  and  was  on  my  bac'1 
in  a minute.  The  gardener  who  lived  at  th 
lodge  had  heard  the  bell  ring,  and  was  read 

96 


GOING  FOR  THE  DOCTOR  97 


flth  the  gate  open,  and  away  we  went  through 
tie  park,  and  through  the  village,  and  down  the 
till  till  we  came  to  the  tollgate.  John  called 
tery  loud  and  thumped  upon  the  door;  the  man 
\as  soon  out  and  flung  open  the  gate. 

“Now,”  said  John,  “do  you  keep  the  gate 
oen  for  the  doctor;  here’s  the  money,”  and  off 
\e  went  again. 

There  was  before  us  a long  piece  of  level 
r?ad  by  the  riverside.  John  said  to  me,  “Now, 
leauty,  do  your  best,”  and  I did.  I wanted  no 
yhip  nor  spur,  and  for  two  miles  I galloped  as 
fist  as  I could  lay  my  feet  to  the  ground.  I don’t 
tkieve  that  my  old  grandfather,  who  won  the 
nee  at  Newmarket,  could  have  gone  faster. 
Vhen  we  came  to  the  bridge,  John  pulled 
re  up  a little  and  patted  my  neck.  “Well 
one,  Beauty!  good  old  fellow,”  he  said.  He 
vpuld  have  let  me  go  slower,  but  my  spirit  was 
d,  and  I was  off  again  as  fast  as  before. 

The  air  was  frosty,  the  moon  was  bright; 
f was  very  pleasant.  We  came  through  a vil- 
lage, then  through  a dark  wood,  then  uphill, 
ten  downhill,  till  after  an  eight  miles’  run  we 
cme  to  the  town,  through  the  streets  and  into 
tie  market  place.  It  was  all  quite  still  except 
tije  clatter  of  my  feet  on  the  stones — everybody 
yis  asleep.  The  church  clock  struck  three  as 


98 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


we  drew  up  at  Dr.  White’s  door.  John  rang  tl 
bell  twice,  and  then  knocked  at  the  door  lil 
thunder.  A window  was  thrown  up,  and  D 
White  put  his  head  out  and  said,  “What  do  yc 
want?” 

“Mrs.  Gordon  is  very  ill,  sir;  master  wan 
you  to  come  at  once;  he  thinks  she  will  die  if  yc 
cannot  get  there.  Here  is  a note.” 

“Wait,”  he  said,  “I  will  come.” 

He  shut  the  window  and  was  soon  at  tl 
door. 

“The  worst  of  it  is,”  he  said,  “my  horse  h; 
been  out  all  day  and  is  quite  done  up ; my  son  hi 
just  taken  the  other.  What  is  to  be  done?  Ca 
I have  your  horse?” 

“He  has  come  at  a gallop  nearly  all  the  wa; 
sir,  and  I was  to  give  him  a rest  here;  but  I thin 
my  master  would  not  be  against  it,  if  you  thin 
fit,  sir.” 

“All  right,”  he  said,  “I  will  soon  be  ready 

John  stood  by  me  and  stroked  my  neck; 
was  very  hot.  The  doctor  came  out  with  h 
riding  whip. 

“You  need  not  take  that,  sir,”  said  Joh 
“Black  Beauty  will  go  till  he  drops.  Take  cai 
of  him,  sir,  if  you  can;  I should  not  like  any  har 
to  come  to  him.” 

“No,  no,  John,”  said  the  doctor,  “I  hop 


GOING  FOR  THE  DOCTOR  99 


lot,”  and  in  a minute  we  had  left  John  far 
tehind. 

I will  not  tell  about  our  way  back.  The  doc- 
hr  was  a heavier  man  than  John,  and  not  so 
pod  a rider;  however,  I did  my  very  best.  The 
ran  at  the  tollgate  had  it  open.  When  we  came 
t»  the  hill,  the  doctor  drew  me  up.  “Now,  my 
pod  fellow,”  he  said,  “take  some  breath.” 

I was  glad  he  did,  for  I was  nearly  spent, 
bit  that  breathing  helped  me  on,  and  soon  we 
v'ere  in  the  park.  Joe  was  at  the  lodge  gate; 
ny  master  was  at  the  Hall  door,  for  he  had 

tard  us  coming.  He  spoke  not  a word;  the 
ctor  went  into  the  house  with  him,  and  Joe  led 
he  to  the  stable. 

I was  glad  to  get  home;  my  legs  shook 
under  me,  and  I could  only  stand  and  pant.  I 
hd  not  a dry  hair  on  my  body,  the  water  ran 
dwn  my  legs,  and  I steamed  all  over — Joe  used 
t<  say,  like  a pot  on  the  fire.  Poor  Joe!  he  was 
yung  and  small,  and  as  yet  he  knew  very  little, 
a d his  father,  who  would  have  helped  him,  had 
ben  sent  to  the  next  village;  but  I am  sure  he 
il  the  very  best  he  knew. 

, He  rubbed  my  legs  and  my  chest,  but  he  did 
fit  put  my  warm  cloth  on  me;  he  thought  I was 
sc  hot  I should  not  like  it.  Then  he  gave  me  a 
pulful  of  water  to  drink;  it  was  cold  and  very 


100 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


good,  and  I drank  it  all.  Then  he  gave  me  son 
hay  and  some  corn,  and,  thinking  he  had  dor 
right,  he  went  away.  Soon  I began  to  shake  ar. 
tremble,  and  turned  deadly  cold;  my  legs  ache 
my  loins  ached,  and  my  chest  ached,  and  I fe 
sore  all  over.  Oh!  how  I wished  for  my  warr 
thick  cloth  as  I stood  and  trembled.  I wishe 
for  John,  but  he  had  eight  miles  to  walk,  so 
lay  down  in  my  straw  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep. 

After  a long  while  I heard  him  at  the  doo 
I gave  a low  moan,  for  I was  in  great  pain.  I 
was  at  my  side  in  a moment,  stooping  down  1 
me.  I could  not  tell  him  how  I felt,  but  1 
seemed  to  know  it  all.  He  covered  me  up  wii  j 
two  or  three  warm  cloths,  and  then  ran  to  tl 
house  for  some  hot  water.  He  made  me  son 
warm  gruel,  which  I drank,  and  then  I think' 
went  to  sleep. 

John  seemed  to  be  very  much  put  out.  . 
heard  him  say  to  himself  over  and  over  agai, 
“Stupid  boy!  stupid  boy!  no  cloth  put  on,  and. 
dare  say  the  water  was  cold,  too;  boys  are  v 
good”;  but  Joe  was  a good  boy,  after  all. 

I was  now  very  ill;  a strong  inflammatia 
had  attacked  my  lungs,  and  I could  not  draw  n' 
breath  without  pain.  John  nursed  me  nig. 
and  day;  he  would  get  up  two  or  three  times  i 
the  night.  My  master,  too,  often  came  to  see  n. 


GOING  FOR  THE  DOCTOR  101 


“My  poor  Beauty,”  he  said  one  day,  “my 
pod  horse,  you  saved  your  mistress’s  life, 
leauty;  yes,  you  saved  her  life.” 

I was  very  glad  to  hear  that,  for  it  seems 
tie  doctor  had  said  if  we  had  been  a little  later 
1 would  have  been  too  late.  John  told  my  mas- 
ter he  never  saw  a horse  go  so  fast  in  his  life. 
I seemed  as  if  the  horse  knew  what  was  the 
ratter.  Of  course  I did,  though  John  thought 
nt;  at  least  I knew  as  much  as  this — that  John 
aid  I must  go  at  the  top  of  our  speed,  and  that 
i'was  for  the  sake  of  the  mistress. 


Chapter  XIX 
ONLY  IGNORANCE 

IDO  not  know  how  long  I was  ill.  Mr.  Bon 
the  horse  doctor,  came  every  day.  One  de 
he  bled  me;  John  held  a pail  for  the  blood.  ’ 
felt  very  faint  after  it,  and  thought  I should  di 
and  I believe  they  all  thought  so,  too. 

Ginger  and  Merrylegs  had  been  moved  in> 
the  other  stables,  so  that  I might  be  quiet,  fe 
the  fever  had  made  me  very  quick  of  hearin. 
Any  little  noise  seemed  quite  loud,  and  I coul 
tell  everyone’s  footstep  going  to  and  from  th 
house.  I knew  all  that  was  going  on.  One  nigL 
John  had  to  give  me  a draft;  Thomas  Gree 
came  in  to  help  him.  After  I had  taken  it  arl 
John  had  made  me  as  comfortable  as  he  coul, 
he  said  he  should  stay  half  an  hour  to  see  hoy 
the  medicine  settled.  Thomas  said  he  woul 
stay  with  him,  so  they  went  and  sat  down  on  i 
bench  that  had  been  brought  into  Merryleg’ 
stall,  and  put  down  the  lantern  at  their  feet,  th;i: 
I might  not  be  disturbed  with  the  light. 

For  a while  both  men  sat  silent,  and  the 
Tom  Green  said  in  a low  voice : 

102 


ONLY  IGNORANCE 


103 


“I  wish,  John,  you’d  say  a bit  of  a kind  word 
o Joe.  The  boy  is  quite  broken-hearted;  he 
an’t  eat  his  meals,  and  he  can’t  smile.  He  says 
e knows  it  was  all  his  fault,  though  he  is  sure 
e did  the  best  he  knew,  and  he  says,  if  Beauty 
ies,  no  one  will  ever  speak  to  him  again.  It 
bes  to  my  heart  to  hear  him.  I think  you  might 
five  him  just  a word;  he  is  not  a bad  boy.” 

After  a short  pause,  John  said  slowly,  ‘ ‘You 
lust  not  be  too  hard  upon  me,  Tom.  I know 
e meant  no  harm;  I never  said  he  did;  I know 
e is  not  a bad  boy.  But  you  see  I am  sore 
lyself.  That  horse  is  the  pride  of  my  heart,  to 
;ay  nothing  of  his  being  such  a favorite  with  the 
raster  and  mistress;  and  to  think  that  his  life 
lay  be  flung  away  in  this  manner  is  more  than 
can  bear.  But  if  you  think  I am  hard  on  the 
oy,  I will  try  to  give  him  a good  word  tomorrow 
-that  is,  if  Beauty  is  better.” 

“Well,  John,  thank  you.  I knew  you  did 
ot  wish  to  be  too  hard,  and  I am  glad  you  see 
was  only  ignorance.” 

John’s  voice  almost  startled  me  as  he  an- 
wered,  “Only  ignorance!  only  ignorance!  how 
an  you  talk  about  only  ignorance?  Don’t  you 
'now  that  it  is  the  worst  thing  in  the  world, 
:'ext  to  wickedness?  And  which  does  the  most 
;rischief  Heaven  only  knows.  If  people  can  say, 


i 


104 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


‘Oh!  I did  not  know,  I did  not  mean  any  harir 
they  think  it  is  all  right.  I suppose  Martha  Mu 
wash  did  not  mean  to  kill  that  baby  when  st 
dosed  it  with  soothing  sirup;  but  she  did  kill  i 
and  she  was  tried  for  manslaughter/’ 

“And  served  her  right,  too,”  said  Tom.  “ 
woman  should  not  undertake  to  nurse  a tendt 
little  child  without  knowing  what  is  good  an 
what  is  bad  for  it.” 

“Bill  Starkey,”  continued  John,  “did  n< 
mean  to  frighten  his  brother  into  fits  when  l 
dressed  up  like  a ghost  and  ran  after  him  in  tl 
moonlight;  but  he  did;  and  that  bright,  han( 
some  little  fellow,  that  might  have  been  tt 
pride  of  any  mother’s  heart,  is  just  no  bett* 
than  an  idiot,  and  never  will  be,  if  he  lives  to  l 
eighty  years  old.  You  were  a good  deal  cut  u 
yourself,  Tom,  two  weeks  ago,  when  those  youn 
ladies  left  your  hothouse  door  open,  with  a frost 
east  wind  blowing  right  in;  you  said  it  killed 
good  many  of  your  plants.” 

“A  good  many!”  said  Tom,  “there  was  n< 
one  of  the  tender  cuttings  that  was  not  nippe 
off.  I shall  have  to  strike  all  over  again,  and  tb 
worst  of  it  is  that  I don’t  know  where  to  g< 
fresh  ones.  I was  nearly  mad  when  I came  i 
and  saw  what  was  done.” 


ONLY  IGNORANCE 


105 


“And  yet,”  said  John,  “I  am  sure  the  young 
lidies  did  not  mean  it;  it  was  only  ignorance.” 

I heard  no  more  of  this  conversation,  for 
he  medicine  sent  me  to  sleep,  and  in  the  morn- 
iig  I felt  much  better.  I often  thought  of  John's 
mrds  when  I came  to  know  more  of  the  world. 


\ 


The  carter  was  shouting  and  flogging  the  horses  unmercifully 


Chapter  XX 
JOE  GREEN 


*'0E  GREEN  went  on  very  well.  He  learned 
quickly,  and  was  so  attentive  and  careful 
* that  John  began  to  trust  him  in  many  things ; 
lut,  as  I have  said,  he  was  small  for  his  age,  and 
i was  seldom  that  he  was  allowed  to  exercise 
(ither  Ginger  or  me.  But  it  so  happened  one 
norning  that  John  was  out  with  Justice  in  the 
ltggage  cart,  and  the  master  wanted  a note  to 
b taken  immediately  to  a gentleman’s  house, 
bout  three  miles  distant,  and  sent  his  orders  for 
be  to  saddle  me  and  take  it;  adding  the  caution 
hat  he  was  to  ride  steadily. 

The  note  was  delivered,  and  we  were  quietly 
nturning  when  we  came  to  the  brickfield.  Here 
ie  saw  a cart  heavily  laden  with  bricks.  The 
\heels  had  stuck  fast  in  the  stiff  mud  of 
£>me  deep  ruts,  and  the  carter  was  shouting 
nd  flogging  the  two  horses  unmercifully.  Joe 
piled  up.  It  was  a sad  sight.  There  were  the 
wo  horses  straining  and  struggling  with  all 
heir  might  to  drag  the  cart  out,  but  they  could 
nt  move  it;  the  sweat  streamed  from  their  legs 


108 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


and  flanks,  their  sides  heaved,  and  every  muscl 
was  strained,  while  the  man,  fiercely  pulling  g 
the  head  of  the  fore  horse,  swore  and  lashe 
most  brutally. 

“Hold  hard!”  said  Joe,  “don’t  go  on  flog 
ging  the  horses  like  that.  The  wheels  are  s 
stuck  that  they  cannot  move  the  cart.”  The  ma 
took  no  heed,  but  went  on  lashing. 

“Stop!  pray  stop!”  said  Joe.  “I’ll  help  yo 
lighten  the  cart;  they  can’t  move  it  now.” 

“Mind  your  own  business,  you  impuder 
young  rascal,  and  I’ll  mind  mine!”  The  ma 
was  in  a towering  passion  and  the  worse  fo 
drink,  and  laid  on  the  whip  again.  Joe  turne 
my  head,  and  the  next  moment  we  were  goin. 
at  a round  gallop  toward  the  house  of  the  mas 
ter  brickmaker.  I cannot  say  if  John  would  hav 
approved  of  our  pace,  but  Joe  and  I were  bot 
of  one  mind,  and  so  angry  that  we  could  not  hav 
gone  slower. 

The  house  stood  close  by  the  roadside.  Jo 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  shouted,  “Halloo!  I 
Mr.  Clay  at  home?”  The  door  was  opened,  an 
Mr.  Clay  himself  came  out. 

“Halloo,  young  man!  You  seem  in  a hurry 
any  orders  from  the  Squire  this  morning?” 

“No,  Mr.  Clay,  but  there’s  a fellow  in  yon 
brickyard  flogging  two  horses  to  death.  I tol 


JOE  GREEN 


109 


jiim  to  stop,  and  he  wouldn’t.  I said  I’d  help  him 
i;o  lighten  the  cart,  and  he  wouldn’t;  so  I have 
pome  to  tell  you.  Pray,  sir,  go.”  Joe’s  voice 
;hook  with  excitement. 

“Thank  ye,  my  lad,”  said  the  man,  running 
n for  his  hat,  then  pausing.  “Will  you  give 
evidence  of  what  you  saw  if  I bring  the  fellow 
ip  before  a magistrate?” 

“That  I will,”  said  Joe,  “and  glad,  too.” 
The  man  was  gone,  and  we  were  on  our  way 
tome  at  a smart  trot. 

“Why,  what’s  the  matter  with  you,  Joe? 
fou  look  angry  all  over,”  said  John,  as  the  boy 
lung  himself  from  the  saddle. 

“I  am  angry  all  over,  I can  tell  you,”  said 
he  boy,  and  then  in  hurried,  excited  words  he 
old  all  that  had  happened.  Joe  was  usually 
uch  a quiet,  gentle  little  fellow  that  it  was  won- 
jlerful  to  see  him  so  roused. 

“Right,  Joe!  you  did  right,  my  boy,  whether 
he  fellow  gets  a summons  or  not.  Many  folks 
jlrould  have  ridden  by  and  said  ’twas  not  their 
business  to  interfere.  Now,  I say  that  with 
ruelty  and  oppression  it  is  everybody’s  business 
o interfere  when  they  see  it;  you  did  right,  my 
>oy.” 

Joe  was  quite  calm  by  this  time,  and  proud 
hat  John  approved  of  him,  and  he  cleaned  out 


110  BLACK  BEAUTY 

my  feet,  and  rubbed  me  down  with  a firmer  han( 
than  usual. 

They  were  just  going  home  to  dinner  whei 
the  footman  came  down  to  the  stable  to  say  tha 
Joe  was  wanted  directly  in  the  master’s  private 
room;  there  was  a man  brought  up  for  ill-usinj 
horses,  and  Joe’s  evidence  was  wanted. 

The  boy  flushed  up  to  his  forehead,  and  hi; 
eyes  sparkled.  ‘They  shall  have  it,”  said  he. 

“Put  yourself  a bit  straight,”  said  John 
Joe  gave  a pull  at  his  necktie  and  a twitch  at  hi: 
jacket,  and  was  off  in  a moment. 

Our  master  being  one  of  the  country  mag 
istrates,  cases  were  often  brought  to  him  t( 
settle,  or  say  what  should  be  done.  In  the  stabl< 
we  heard  no  more  for  some  time,  as  it  was  tht 
men’s  dinner  hour,  but  when  Joe  came  next  intc 
the  stable  I saw  he  was  in  high  spirits;  he  gav( 
me  a good-natured  slap,  and  said,  “We  won’' 
see  such  things  done,  will  we,  old  fellow?” 

We  heard  afterwards  that  he  had  given  hi: 
evidence  so  clearly,  and  the  horses  were  ir 
such  an  exhausted  state,  bearing  marks  of  sue! 
brutal  usage,  that  the  carter  was  committed  t( 
take  his  trial,  and  might  possibly  be  sentencec 
to  two  or  three  months  in  prison. 

It  was  wonderful  what  a change  had  corm 
over  Joe.  John  laughed,  and  said  he  had  growr 


JOE  GREEN 


111 


m inch  taller  in  that  week,  and  I believe  he 
lad.  He  was  just  as  kind  and  gentle  as  before, 
mt  there  was  more  purpose  and  determination 
n all  that  he  did — as  if  he  had  jumped  at  once 
rom  a boy  into  a man. 


I 


Chapter  XXI 
THE  PARTING 

I HAD  now  lived  in  this  happy  place  thre 
years,  but  sad  changes  were  about  to  com 
over  us.  We  heard  from  time  to  time  tha 
our  mistress  was  ill.  The  doctor  was  often  a 
the  house  and  the  master  looked  grave  an 
anxious.  Then  we  heard  that  she  must  leav 
her  home  at  once,  and  go  to  a warm  country  fo 
two  or  three  years.  The  news  fell  upon  th 
household  like  the  tolling  of  a death  bell.  Every 
body  was  sorry;  but  the  master  began  to  mak 
arrangements  for  breaking  up  his  establish 
ment  and  leaving  England.  We  used  to  hea 
it  talked  about  in  our  stable;  indeed,  nothin* 
else  was  talked  about. 

John  went  about  his  work,  silent  and  sad 
and  Joe  scarcely  whistled.  There  was  a grea 
deal  of  coming  and  going.  Ginger  and  I hat 
full  work. 

The  first  of  the  party  who  went  were  Mis 
Jessie  and  Flora  with  their  governess.  The; 
came  to  bid  us  good-by.  They  hugged  poo: 
Merrylegs  like  an  old  friend,  and  so  indeed  h< 
was.  Then  we  heard  what  had  been  arrange* 

112 


THE  PARTING 


113 


Dr  us.  Master  had  sold  Ginger  and  me  to  his 

<ld  friend,  the  Earl  of  W , for  he  thought 

•^e  should  have  a good  place  there.  Merry  legs 
Je  had  given  to  the  Vicar,  who  was  wanting  a 
;ony  for  Mrs.  Blomefield,  but  it  was  on  the  con- 
ation that  he  should  never  be  sold,  and  that 
'(hen  he  was  past  work  he  should  be  shot  and 
Juried. 

Joe  was  engaged  to  take  care  of  him  and 
I,)  help  in  the  house,  so  I thought  that  Merrylegs 
,ras  well  off.  John  had  the  offer  of  several  good 
jiaces,  but  he  said  he  should  wait  a little  and 
bok  round.  The  evening  before  they  left,  the 
naster  came  into  the  stable  to  give  some  direc- 
lon,  and  to  give  his  horses  the  last  pat.  He 
:3emed  very  low-spirited;  I knew  that  by  his 
pice.  I believe  we  horses  can  tell  more  by  the 
'Dice  than  many  men  can. 

“Have  you  decided  what  to  do,  John?”  he 
aid.  “I  find  you  have  not  accepted  either  of 
liose  offers.” 

“No,  sir;  I have  made  up  my  mind  that  if  I 
luld  get  a situation  with  some  first-rate  colt 
weaker  and  horse  trainer,  it  would  be  the  right 
iiing  for  me.  Many  young  animals  are  fright- 
ned  and  spoiled  by  wrong  treatment,  which 
tped  not  be  if  the  right  man  took  them  in  hand. 
get  on  well  with  horses,  and  if  I could 


ialways 


114 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


help  some  of  them  to  a fair  start  I should  fee 
as  if  I was  doing  some  good.  What  do  you  thin 
of  it,  sir?” 

“I  don’t  know  a man  anywhere,”  said  mas 
ter,  “that  I should  think  so  suitable  for  it  a 
yourself.  You  understand  horses,  and  the 
understand  you,  and  in  time  you  might  set  u 
for  yourself;  I think  you  could  not  do  better.  1 
in  any  way  I can  help  you,  write  to  me.  I sha 
speak  to  my  agent,  and  leave  your  characte 
with  him.” 

Master  gave  John  the  address,  and  then  h 
thanked  him  for  his  long  and  faithful  service 
but  that  was  too  much  for  John. 

“Pray,  don’t,  sir,  I can’t  bear  it;  you  an 
my  dear  mistress  have  done  so  much  for  me  tha 
I could  never  repay  it.  But  we  shall  never  foi 
get  you,  sir,  and,  please  God,  we  may  some  da 
see  mistress  back  again  like  herself;  we  mus 
keep  up  hope,  sir.”  Master  gave  John  his  hanc 
but  he  did  not  speak,  and  they  both  left  th 
stable. 

The  last  sad  day  had  come;  the  footma: 
and  the  heavy  luggage  had  gone  off  the  da 
before,  and  there  were  only  master  and  mistres 
and  her  maid.  Ginger  and  I had  brought  th 
carriage  up  to  the  Hall  door  for  the  last  time 
The  servants  brought  out  cushions  and  rugs  an< 


THE  PARTING 


115 


:iany  other  things,  and  when  all  were  arranged, 
faster  came  down  the  steps  carrying  the  mis- 
press in  his  arms  (I  was  on  the  side  next  the 
louse,  and  could  see  all  that  went  on).  He 
jlaced  her  carefully  in  the  carriage,  while  the 
louse  servants  stood  round  crying. 

“Good-by  again,”  he  said,  “we  shall  not 
brget  any  of  you,”  and  he  got  in.  “Drive  on, 
tOhn.” 

Joe  jumped  up,  and  we  trotted  slowly 
tirough  the  park  and  through  the  village,  where 
tie  people  were  standing  at  their  doors  to  have 
Hast  look  and  to  say,  “God  bless  them.” 

When  we  reached  the  railway  station,  I 
tiink  mistress  walked  from  the  carriage  to  the 
Waiting  room.  I heard  her  say  in  her  own  sweet 
Alice,  “Good-by,  John.  God  bless  you.” 

I felt  the  rein  twitch,  but  John  made  no 
diswer;  perhaps  he  could  not  speak.  As  soon 
a,  Joe  had  taken  the  things  out  of  the  carriage, 
Jhn  called  him  to  stand  by  the  horses  while  he 
vmt  on  the  platform.  Poor  Joe!  he  stood  close 
u>  to  our  heads  to  hide  his  tears.  Very  soon  the 
tain  came  puffing  up  into  the  station ; then  two 
o three  minutes  and  the  doors  were  slammed 
U the  guard  whistled,  and  the  train  glided 
a>ay,  leaving  behind  it  only  clouds  of  white 
saoke  and  some  very  heavy  hearts. 


110  BLACK  BEAUTY 

When  it  was  quite  out  of  sight,  John  cam 
back. 

“We  shall  never  see  her  again,”  he  said- 
“never.”  He  took  the  reins,  mounted  the  bo> 
and  with  Joe  drove  slowly  home;  but  it  was  nc 
our  home  now. 


( 


PART  11 


■ 

Chapter  XXII 
EARLSHALL 

PI^HE  next  morning  after  breakfast,  Joe  put 
L Merrylegs  into  the  mistress’s  low  chaise  to 
take  him  to  the  vicarage.  He  came  first 
aid  said  good-by  to  us,  and  Merrylegs  neighed 
t us  from  the  yard.  Then  John  put  the  saddle 
oi  Ginger  and  the  leading  rein  on  me,  and  rode 
u;  across  the  country  about  fifteen  miles  to 

Iirlshall  Park,  where  the  Earl  of  W lived. 

"here  was  a very  fine  house  and  a great  deal 
o stabling. 

We  went  into  the  yard  through  a stone 
giteway,  and  John  asked  for  Mr.  York.  It  was 
sme  time  before  he  came.  He  was  a fine- 
loking,  middle-aged  man,  and  his  voice  said 
a once  that  he  expected  to  be  obeyed.  He 
ms  very  friendly  and  polite  to  John,  and  after 
gvm g us  a slight  look  he  called  a groom  to  take 
u to  our  boxes,  and  invited  John  to  take  some 
r freshment. 

We  were  taken  to  a light,  airy  stable,  and 
piced  in  boxes  adjoining  each  other,  where  we 
mre  rubbed  down  and  fed.  In  about  half  an 


118 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


hour  John  and  Mr.  York,  who  was  to  be  our  ne? 
coachman,  came  in  to  see  us. 

“Now,  Mr.  Manly,”  he  said,  after  careful? 
looking  at  us  both,  “I  can  see  no  fault  in  the) 
horses,  but  we  all  know  that  horses  have  the: 
peculiarities  as  well  as  men,  and  that  sometime 
they  need  different  treatment.  I should  like  ) 
know  if  there  is  anything  particular  in  eith: 
of  these  that  you  would  like  to  mention.” 

“Well,”  said  John,  “I  don’t  believe  there ; 
a better  pair  of  horses  in  the  country,  and  rig; 
grieved  I am  to  part  with  them,  but  they  are  n; 
alike.  The  black  one  has  the  most  perfe; 
temper  I ever  knew;  I suppose  he  has  nev: 
known  a hard  word  or  blow  since  he  was  foale, 
and  all  his  pleasure  seems  to  be  to  do  what  yd 
wish. 

“The  chestnut,  I fancy,  must  have  had  bd 
treatment;  we  heard  as  much  from  the  deale. 
She  came  to  us  snappish  and  suspicious,  bt 
when  she  found  what  sort  of  place  ours  was,  t 
all  went  off  by  degrees.  For  three  years  I ha'3 
never  seen  the  smallest  sign  of  temper,  and  £ 
she  is  well  treated  there  is  not  a better,  mo 3 
willing  animal  than  she  is.  But  she  has  natural.’ 
a more  irritable  constitution  than  the  bla«c 
horse;  flies  tease  her  more;  anything  wrong  1 
the  harness  frets  her  more,  and  if  she  were  i* 


EARLSHALL 


119 


ised  or  unfairly  treated  she  would  not  be 
Vilikely  to  give  tit  for  tat.  You  know  that  many 
fgh-mettled  horses  will  do  so.” 

“Of  course,”  said  York,  “I  quite  under- 
sand; but  you  know  it  is  not  easy  in  stables 
ike  these  to  have  all  the  grooms  just  what  they 
siould  be.  I do  my  best,  and  there  I must  leave 
i I’ll  remember  what  you  have  said  about  the 
rare.” 

They  were  going  out  of  the  stable  when  John 
sopped,  and  said,  “I  had  better  mention  that 
vb  have  never  used  the  checkrein  with  either 
c them;  the  black  horse  never  had  one  on,  and 
t e dealer  said  it  was  the  gag  bit  that  spoiled 
tje  other’s  temper.” 

“Well,”  said  York,  “if  they  come  here  they 
mst  wear  the  checkrein.  I prefer  a loose  rein 
nyself,  and  his  lordship  is  always  very  reason- 
able about  horses;  but  my  lady — that’s  another 
ting.  She  will  have  style,  and  if  her  carriage 
brses  are  not  reined  up  tight  she  wouldn’t  look 
a them.  I always  stand  out  against  the  gag  bit, 
aid  shall  do  so,  but  it  must  be  tight  up  when 
ny  lady  rides!” 

“I  am  sorry  for  it,  very  sorry,”  said  John, 
Hut  I must  go  now,  or  I shall  lose  the  train.* 

; He  came  round  to  each  of  us  to  pat  and 
seak  to  us  for  the  last  time;  his  voice  sounded 


120 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


very  sad.  I held  my  face  close  to  him.  Th ; 
was  all  I could  do  to  say  good-by.  Then  he  w;; 
gone,  and  I have  never  seen  him  since. 

The  next  day  Lord  W came  to  look  ;; 

us;  he  seemed  pleased  with  our  appearance. 

“I  have  great  confidence  in  these  horses 
he  said,  “from  the  character  my  friend  M 
Gordon  has  given  me  of  them.  Of  course  the 
are  not  a match  in  color,  but  my  idea  is  that  th( 
will  do  very  well  for  the  carriage  while  we  a] 
in  the  country.  Before  we  go  to  London  I mu 
try  to  match  Baron;  the  black  horse,  I believ 
is  perfect  for  riding.,, 

York  then  told  him  what  John  had  sa: 
about  us. 

“Well,”  said  he,  “you  must  keep  an  eye  t 
the  mare,  and  put  the  checkrein  easy;  I dai 
say  they  will  do  very  well  with  a little  humorin; 
I’ll  mention  it  to  your  lady.” 

In  the  afternoon  we  were  harnessed  ar 
put  in  the  carriage,  and  as  the  stable  cloc 
struck  three  we  were  led  round  to  the  front  c 
the  house.  It  was  all  very  grand,  and  three  c 
four  times  as  large  as  the  old  house  at  Birtwicl 
but  not  half  so  pleasant,  if  a horse  may  have  a 
opinion.  Two  footmen  were  standing  read; 
dressed  in  drab  livery,  with  scarlet  breech 
and  white  stockings.  Presently  we  heard  tl 


EARLSHALL 


121 


mstling  sound  of  silk  as  my  lady  came  down  the 
fight  of  stone  steps.  She  stepped  round  to  look 
r us;  she  was  a tall,  proud-looking  woman,  and 
dd  not  seem  pleased  about  something,  but  she 
slid  nothing,  and  got  into  the  carriage. 

This  was  the  first  time  of  wearing  a check- 
nin,  and  I must  say,  though  it  certainly  was  a 
niisance  not  to  be  able  to  get  my  head  down 
row  and  then,  it  did  not  pull  my  head  higher 
man  I was  accustomed  to  carry  it.  I felt  anxious 
spout  Ginger,  but  she  seemed  quiet  and  content. 

The  next  day  at  three  o’clock  we  were  again 
i the  door,  and  the  footmen  as  before;  we  heard 
me  silk  dress  rustle,  and  the  lady  came  down  the 
geps,  and  in  an  imperious  voice  she  said,  “York, 
pu  must  put  those  horses’  heads  higher;  they 
re  not  fit  to  be  seen.” 

York  got  down  and  said,  very  respectfully, 
% beg  your  pardon,  my  lady,  but  these  horses 
lave  not  been  reined  up  for  three  years,  and  my 
lrd  said  it  would  be  safer  to  bring  them  to  it 
w degrees;  but  if  your  ladyship  pleases,  I can 
ike  them  up  a little  more.” 

“Do  so,”  she  said. 

York  came  round  to  our  heads  and 
siortened  the  rein  himself,  one  hole,  I think. 
Ivery  little  makes  a difference,  be  it  for  better 
c worse,  and  that  day  we  had  a steep  hill  to  go 


122 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


up.  Then  I began  to  understand  what  I ha 
heard  of.  Of  course  I wanted  to  put  my  hes 
forward  and  take  the  carriage  up  with  a wi 
as  we  had  been  used  to  do;  but  no,  I had  to  pi 
with  my  head  up  now,  and  that  took  all  the  spir 
out  of  me,  and  the  strain  came  on  my  bac 
and  legs. 

When  we  came  in,  Ginger  said  to  me,  “No 
you  see  what  it  is  like;  but  this  is  not  ba> 
and  if  it  does  not  get  much  worse  than  this 
shall  say  nothing  about  it,  for  we  are  very  we 
treated  here;  but  if  they  strain  me  up  tight,  wh; 
let  'em  look  out!  I can’t  bear  it,  and  I won’t 

Day  by  day,  hole  by  hole,  our  bearing  reir 
were  shortened,  and  instead  of  looking  forwai 
with  pleasure  to  having  my  harness  put  on,  £ 
I used  to  do,  I began  to  dread  it.  Ginger,  to 
seemed  restless,  though  she  said  very  little.  A 
last  I thought  the  worst  was  over.  For  seven 
days  there  was  no  more  shortening,  and 
determined  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  do  ir 
duty,  though  it  was  now  a constant  harai 
instead  of  a pleasure;  but  the  worst  was  n< 
yet  come. 


■ gpi  in 


Chapter  XXIII 
A STRIKE  FOR  LIBERTY 


■ 


NE  day  my  lady  came  down  later  than 
usual,  and  the  silk  rustled  more  than 
ever. 

“Drive  to  the  Duchess  of  B ’s,”  she  said. 

[ien,  after  a pause : “Are  you  never  going  to  get 
t ose  horses’  heads  up,  York?  Raise  them  at 
cice,  and  let  us  have  no  more  of  this  humoring 
aid  nonsense.” 

York  came  to  me  first,  while  the  groom 
sood  at  Ginger’s  head.  He  drew  my  head  back 
aid  fixed  the  rein  so  tight  that  it  was  almost 
intolerable.  Then  he  went  to  Ginger,  who  was 
impatiently  jerking  her  head  up  and  down 
against  the  bit,  as  was  her  way  now.  She  had 
a?ood  idea  of  what  was  coming,  and  the  moment 
t)rk  took  the  rein  off  the  terret  in  order  to 
s orten  it  she  took  her  opportunity,  and  reared 
u»  so  suddenly  that  York  had  his  nose  roughly 
ht  and  his  hat  knocked  off;  the  groom  was 
narly  thrown  off  his  legs. 

At  once  they  both  flew  to  her  head,  but  she 
vis  a match  for  them,  and  went  on  plunging, 
r aring,  kicking  in  a most  desperate  manner;  at 

123 


124 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


last  she  kicked  right  over  the  carriage  pole  am 
fell  down,  after  giving  me  a severe  blow  on  m; 
near  quarter.  There  is  no  knowing  what  furthe: 
mischief  she  might  have  done  had  not  Yorl 
promptly  sat  himself  down  flat  on  her  head  t 
prevent  her  struggling,  at  the  same  timi 
calling  out: 

“Unbuckle  the  black  horse!  Run  for  th< 
winch  and  unscrew  the  carriage  pole!  Cut  th 
trace  here,  somebody,  if  you  can't  unhitch  it!’ 

One  of  the  footmen  ran  for  the  winch,  an( 
another  brought  a knife  from  the  house.  Th< 
groom  soon  set  me  free  from  Ginger  and  the  car 
riage,  and  led  me  to  my  box.  He  just  turned  m( 
in  as  I was,  and  ran  back  to  York.  I was  mucl 
excited  by  what  had  happened,  and  if  I had  eve: 
been  used  to  kick  or  rear  I am  sure  I should  haw 
done  it  then ; but  I never  had,  and  there  I stood 
angry,  sore  in  my  leg,  my  head  still  strained  u* 
to  the  terret  on  the  saddle,  and  no  power  to  gel 
it  down.  I was  very  miserable,  and  felt  mucl 
inclined  to  kick  the  first  person  who  cam* 
near  me. 

Before  long,  however,  Ginger  was  led  in  bj 
two  grooms,  a good  deal  knocked  about  anc 
bruised.  York  came  with  her  and  gave  his 
orders,  and  then  came  back  to  look  at  me.  Ir 
a moment  he  let  down  my  head. 


A STRIKE  FOR  LIBERTY  125 


“Confound  these  checkreins!”  he  said  to 
Imself.  “I  thought  we  should  have  some  mis- 
<hief  soon.  Master  will  be  sorely  vexed.  But  here, 
j-  a woman’s  husband  can’t  rule  her,  of  course  a 
servant  can’t;  so  I wash  my  hands  of  it,  and  if 
lie  can’t  get  to  the  Duchess’s  garden  party  I 
an’t  help  it.” 

York  did  not  say  this  before  the  men;  he 
always  spoke  respectfully  when  they  were  by. 
low  he  felt  me  all  over,  and  soon  found  the 
I'ace  above  my  hock  where  I had  been  kicked. 
I was  swelled  and  painful;  he  ordered  it  to  be 
longed  with  hot  water,  and  then  some  lotion 
\as  put  on. 

Lord  W was  much  put  out  when  he 

larned  what  had  happened.  He  blamed  York 
hr  giving  way  to  his  mistress,  to  which  he 
Aplied  that  in  future  he  would  much  prefer  to 
hceive  his  orders  only  from  his  lordship;  but  I 
tiink  nothing  came  of  it,  for  things  went  on  the 
ame  as  before.  I thought  York  might  have 
sood  up  better  for  his  horses,  but  perhaps  I am 


n judge. 

Ginger  was  never  put  in  the  carriage 
rain,  but  when  she  was  well  of  her  bruises  one 
Lord  W — — ’s  younger  sons  said  he  should 
Ike  to  have  her;  he  was  sure  she  would  make  a 
£>od  hunter.  As  for  me,  I was  obliged  still  to 


126 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


go  in  the  carriage,  and  had  a fresh  partne 
called  Max;  he  had  always  been  used  to  th 
tight  rein.  I asked  him  how  it  was  he  bore  i 

“Well,”  he  said,  “I  bear  it  because  I must 
but  it  is  shortening  my  life,  and  it  will  shortei 
yours,  too,  if  you  have  to  stick  to  it.” 

“Do  you  think,”  I said,  “that  our  mastei 
know  how  bad  it  is  for  us?” 

“I  can’t  say,”  he  replied,  “but  the  dealei 
and  the  horse  doctors  know  it  very  well.  I wa 
at  a dealer’s  once,  who  was  training  me  an 
another  horse  to  go  as  a pair;  he  was  getting  or 
heads  up,  as  he  said,  a little  higher  and  a littl 
higher  every  day.  A gentleman  asked  him  wh 
he  did  so.  ‘Because,’  said  he,  ‘people  won’t  bu 
them  unless  we  do.  The  London  people  war 
their  horses  to  carry  their  heads  high  and  t 
step  high.  Of  course  it  is  very  bad  for  th 
horses,  but  then  it  is  good  for  trade.  The  horse 
soon  wear  out,  or  get  diseased,  and  they  con: 
for  another  pair.’  That,”  said  Max,  “is  whs 
he  said  in  my  hearing,  and  you  can  judge  fc 
yourself.” 

What  I suffered  with  that  rein  for  foi 
long  months  in  my  lady’s  carriage  would  be  hai 
to  describe;  but  I am  quite  sure  that,  had 
lasted  much  longer,  either  my  health  or  n: 
temper  would  have  given  way.  Before  that 


A STRIKE  FOR  LIBERTY  127 


lever  knew  what  it  was  to  foam  at  the  mouth, 
ht  now  the  action  of  the  sharp  bit  on  my  tongue 
ad  jaw,  and  the  constrained  position  of  my 
lead  and  throat,  always  caused  me  to  froth  at 
tie  mouth  more  or  less. 

Some  people  think  it  very  fine  to  see  this, 
Sjid  say,  “What  fine,  spirited  creatures !”  But  it 
i just  as  unnatural  for  horses  as  for  men  to 
fam  at  the  mouth;  it  is  a sure  sign  of  some  dis~ 
omfort,  and  should  be  attended  to.  Besides  this, 
here  was  a pressure  on  my  windpipe,  which 
cten  made  my  breathing  very  uncomfortable; 
\hen  I returned  from  my  work,  my  neck  and 
aest  were  strained  and  painful,  my  mouth  and 
tngue  tender,  and  I felt  worn  and  depressed. 

In  my  old  home  I always  knew  that  John 
aid  my  master  were  my  friends;  but  here, 
a though  I was  well  treated,  I had  no  friend. 
^Drk  might  have  known,  and  likely  did  know, 
bw  that  rein  harassed  me;  but  I suppose  he  took 
i as  a matter  of  course  that  could  not  be  helped; 
a any  rate  nothing  was  done  to  relieve  me. 


| 


Chapter  XXIV 

THE  LADY  ANNE,  OR  A RUNAWAY  HORS 


EARLY  in  the  spring,  Lord  W and  pai 

of  his  family  went  up  to  London,  and  too 
York  with  them.  Ginger  and  I and  son 
other  horses  were  left  at  home  for  use,  and  tfc 
head  groom  was  left  in  charge. 

The  Lady  Harriet,  who  remained  at  tfc 
Hall,  was  a great  invalid,  and  never  went  oi 
in  the  carriage,  and  the  Lady  Anne  preferre 
riding  on  horseback  with  her  brother  or  cousin 
She  was  a perfect  horsewoman,  and  as  gay  ar 
gentle  as  she  was  beautiful.  She  chose  me  f( 
her  horse,  and  named  me  “Black  Auster.”  1 
enjoyed  these  rides  very  much  in  the  clear,  co] 
air,  sometimes  with  Ginger,  sometimes  wit 
Lizzie.  This  Lizzie  was  a bright  bay  mar 
almost  thoroughbred,  and  a great  favorite  wit 
the  gentlemen,  on  account  of  her  fine  action  ar 
lively  spirit;  but  Ginger,  who  knew  more  of  In 
than  I did,  told  me  she  was  rather  nervous. 

There  was  a gentleman  named  Blantyi 
staying  at  the  Hall.  He  always  rode  Lizzie,  ar. 
praised  her  so  much  that  one  day  Lady  Anr 
ordered  the  side  saddle  to  be  put  on  her,  and  tfc 

128 


THE  LADY  ANNE  129 

cher  saddle  on  me.  When  we  came  to  the  door, 
tie  gentleman  seemed  very  uneasy. 

“How  is  this?”  he  said.  “Are  you  tired  of 
pur  good  Black  Auster?” 

“Oh,  no,”  she  replied,  “but  I am  amiable 
plough  to  let  you  ride  him  for  once,  and  I will 
tjy  your  charming  Lizzie.  You  must  confess 
hat  in  size  and  appearance  she  is  more  like  a 
ljdy’s  horse  than  my  own  favorite.” 

“Do  let  me  advise  you  not  to  mount  her,” 
le  said,  “she  is  a charming  creature,  but  she  is 
to  nervous  for  a lady.  I assure  you,  she  is  not 
Perfectly  safe.  Let  me  beg  you  to  have  the 
addles  changed.” 

“My  dear  cousin,”  said  Lady  Anne,  laugh- 
i g,  “pray  do  not  trouble  your  good,  careful  head 
c)out  me.  I have  been  a horsewoman  ever  since 
Ivvas  a baby,  and  I have  followed  the  hounds  a 
geat  many  times,  though  I know  you  do  not 
Eiprove  of  ladies  hunting.  But  I intend  to  try 
tis  Lizzie  that  you  gentlemen  are  all  so  fond 
c ; so  please  help  me  to  mount,  like  a good  friend 
a you  are.” 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said.  He  placed 
-hr  carefully  on  the  saddle,  looked  to  the  bit  and 
c.rb,  gave  the  reins  gently  into  her  hand,  and 
ten  mounted  me.  Just  as  we  were  moving  off, 
a footman  came  out  with  a slip  of  paper  from 

I 

I 


130 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


the  Lady  Harriet.  “Would  they  ask  this  questic 
for  her  at  Dr.  Ashley’s,  and  bring  the  answer: 
The  village  was  about  a mile  off,  ar. 
the  doctor’s  house  was  the  last  in  it.  We  wei 
along  gaily  enough  till  we  came  to  his  gat 
There  was  a short  drive  up  to  the  house  betwee 
tall  evergreens.  Blantyre  alighted  at  the  gat 
and  was  going  to  open  it  for  Lady  Anne,  but  sf 
said,  “I  will  wait  for  you  here,  and  you  can  han 
Auster’s  rein  on  the  gate.” 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  “I  will  not  1: 
five  minutes,”  he  said. 

“Oh,  do  not  hurry  yourself;  Lizzie  and 
shall  not  run  away  from  you.” 

He  hung  my  rein  on  one  of  the  iron  spike 
and  was  soon  hidden  among  the  trees.  Lizz: 
was  standing  quietly  a few  paces  off,  with  he 
back  to  me.  My  young  mistress  was  sittin 
easily  with  a loose  rein,  humming  a little  son^ 
I listened  to  my  rider’s  footsteps  until  the 
reached  the  house,  and  heard  him  knock  at  tt 
door. 

There  was  a meadow  on  the  opposite  side  c 
the  road,  the  gate  of  which  stood  open.  Just  the 
some  cart  horses  and  several  young  colts  can 
trotting  out  in  a very  disorderly  manner,  whi 
a boy  behind  was  cracking  a great  whip.  Tf 
colts  were  frolicsome,  and  one  of  them  bolte 


THE  LADY  ANNE 


131 


jcross  the  road,  and  blundered  up  against 
nzzie’s  hind  legs;  and  whether  it  was  the  stupid 
olt,  or  the  loud  cracking  of  the  whip,  or  both 
together,  I cannot  say,  but  she  gave  a violent 
lick,  and  dashed  off  into  a headlong  gallop. 

It  was  so  sudden  that  Lady  Anne  was  nearly 
inseated,  but  she  soon  recovered  herself.  I gave 
^loud,  shrill  neigh  for  help.  Again  and  again 
1 neighed,  pawing  the  ground  impatiently,  and 
tossing  my  head  to  get  the  rein  loose.  I had  not 
lng  to  wait.  Blantyre  came  running  to  the 
mte;  he  looked  anxiously  about,  and  caught 
sght  of  the  flying  figure,  not  far  away  on  the 
nad.  In  an  instant  he  sprang  to  the  saddle.  I 
reeded  no  whip,  no  spur,  for  I was  as  eager  as 
rjy  rider;  he  saw  it,  and  gave  me  a free  rein, 
£,id  leaning  a little  forward,  he  dashed  after 
tern. 

For  about  a mile  and  a half  the  road  ran 
sraight,  and  then  bent  to  the  right,  after  which 
to  divided  into  two  roads.  Long  before  we  came 
t the  bend  she  was  out  of  sight.  Which  way  had 
se  turned?  A woman  was  standing  at  her 
grden  gate,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand, 
a d looking  eagerly  up  the  road.  Scarcely 
flawing  the  rein,  Blantyre  shouted,  “Which 
viy?” 

“To  the  right !”  cried  the  woman,  pointing 


132  BLACK  BEAUTY 

with  her  hand,  and  away  we  went  up  the  righ 
hand  road. 

Then  for  a moment  we  caught  sight  of  he: 
another  bend  and  she  was  hidden  again.  Sever 
times  we  caught  glimpses,  and  then  lost  ther 
We  scarcely  seemed  to  gain  ground  upon  the: 
at  all.  An  old  road  mender  was  standing  near , 
heap  of  stones,  his  shovel  dropped  and  his  hand 
raised.  As  we  came  near  he  made  a sign  i 
speak.  Blantyre  drew  the  rein  a little.  “To  tb 
common,  to  the  common,  sir;  she  has  turned  o 
there.” 

I knew  this  common  very  well;  it  was  for  tl 
most  part  very  uneven  ground,  covered  wil 
heather  and  dark-green  furze  bushes,  with  he] 
and  there  a scrubby  old  thorn  tree.  There  we] 
also  open  spaces  of  fine  short  grass,  with  an 
hills  and  mole  turns  everywhere;  the  worst  pla< 
I ever  knew  for  a headlong  gallop. 

We  had  hardly  turned  on  the  common,  wht 
we  caught  sight  again  of  the  green  habit  flyir 
on  before  us.  My  lady’s  hat  was  gone,  and  h< 
long,  brown  hair  was  streaming  behind  her.  Hi 
head  and  body  were  thrown  back,  as  if  she  we: 
pulling  with  all  her  remaining  strength.  It  wj 
clear  that  the  roughness  of  the  ground  had  ve: 
much  lessened  Lizzie’s  speed,  and  there  seenu 
a chance  that  we  might  overtake  her. 


THE  LADY  ANNE 


133 


While  we  were  on  the  highroad,  Blantyre 
d given  me  my  head;  but  now,  with  a light 
ad  and  a practiced  eye,  he  guided  me  over  the 
nund  in  such  a masterly  manner  that  my  pace 
ris  scarcely  slackened,  and  we  were  decidedly 
ining  on  them. 

About  halfway  across  the  heath  there  had 
en  a wide  dike  recently  cut,  and  the  earth  from 
hi  cutting  was  cast  up  roughly  on  the  other 
he.  Surely  this  would  stop  them!  But  no;  with 
dircely  a pauze  Lizzie  took  the  leap,  stumbled 
nong  the  rough  clods,  and  fell.  Blantyre 
loaned,  “Now,  Auster,  do  your  best!”  He  gave 
t a steady  rein.  I gathered  myself  well  to- 
:cher,  and  with  one  determined  leap  cleared 
da.  dike  and  bank. 

Motionless  among  the  heather,  with  her 
s:e  to  the  earth,  lay  my  poor  young  mistress. 
Untyre  kneeled  down  and  called  her  name; 
h;re  was  no  sound.  Gently  he  turned  her  face 
Ljvard;  it  was  ghastly  white,  and  the  eyes  were 
lsed.  “Annie,  dear  Annie,  do  speak!”  But 
hire  was  no  answer.  He  unbuttoned  her  habit, 
Dsened  her  collar,  felt  her  hands  and  wrist, 
h;n  started  up  and  looked  wildly  round  him 
c help. 

At  no  great  distance  there  were  two  men 

uting  turf,  who,  seeing  Lizzie  running  wild 
10 


134 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


without  a rider,  had  left  their  work  to  catch  h. 
Blantyre’s  halloo  brought  them  to  the  spot.  % 
foremost  man  seemed  much  troubled  at  ie 
sight,  and  asked  what  he  could  do.  “Can 
ride?” 

“Well,  sir,  I bean’t  much  of  a horsem; 
but  I’d  risk  my  neck  for  Lady  Anne;  she  vis 
uncommon  good  to  my  wife  in  the  winter.” 

“Then  mount  this  horse,  my  friend — yor 
neck  will  be  quite  safe — and  ride  to  the  dock’s: 
and  ask  him  to  come  instantly.  Then  on  to  le 
Hall ; tell  them  all  that  you  know,  and  bid  thin 
send  me  the  carriage  with  Lady  Anne’s  mic 
and  help.  I shall  stay  here.” 

“All  right,  sir,  I’ll  do  my  best,  and  I piiv 
God  the  young  lady  may  open  her  eyes  soo.v 
Then  seeing  the  other  man,  he  called  out,  “Hee, 
Joe,  run  for  some  water,  and  tell  my  missisto 
come  as  quick  as  she  can  to  Lady  Anne.” 

He  then  somehow  scrambled  into  the  sad(e, 
and  with  a “Gee  up”  and  a clap  on  my  sides  vdd 
both  his  legs,  he  started  on  his  journey,  makigl 
a little  circuit  to  avoid  the  dike.  He  had  no  wlp  i 
which  seemed  to  trouble  him;  but  my  pace  soul- 
cured  that  difficulty,  and  he  found  the  best  th:ig| 
he  could  do  was  to  stick  to  the  saddle,  and  hid. 
me  in,  which  he  did  manfully.  I shook  himas: 
little  as  I could  help,  but  once  or  twice  on  iei 


THE  LADY  ANNE 


135 


’agh  ground  he  called  out,  “Steady!  Whoa! 
Ipady!”  On  the  highroad  we  were  all  right,  and 
lithe  doctor’s  and  the  Hall  he  did  his  errand  like 
i rood  man  and  true.  They  asked  him  to  take  a 
bp  of  something.  “No,  no,”  he  said,  “I’ll  be 
)ick  to  ’em  again  by  a short  cut  through  the 
bids,  and  be  there  afore  the  carriage.” 

There  was  a deal  of  hurry  and  excitement 
iter  the  news  became  known.  I was  turned  into 
if  box;  the  saddle  and  bridle  were  taken  off, 
Lid  a cloth  thrown  over  me. 

Ginger  was  saddled  and  sent  off  in  great 
i&te  for  Lord  George,  and  I soon  heard  the 
triage  roll  out  of  the  yard. 

It  seemed  a long  time  before  Ginger  came 
>j3k  and  told  me  all  that  she  had  seen. 

“I  can’t  tell  much,”  she  said.  “We  went 
-rallop  nearly  all  the  way,  and  got  there  just 
ithe  doctor  rode  up.  There  was  a woman  sit- 
ing on  the  ground  with  the  lady’s  head  in  her 
,a.  The  doctor  poured  something  into  her 
nuth,  but  all  that  I heard  was,  ‘She  is  not 
kid.’  Then  I was  led  off  by  a man  to  a little 
itance.  After  a while  she  was  taken  to  the 
ariage,  and  we  came  home  together.  I heard 
master  say. to  a gentleman  who  stopped  him 
Inquire,  that  he  hoped  no  bones  were  broken, 
a';  that  she  had  not  spoken  yet.” 


136 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


When  Lord  George  took  Ginger  for  huntii' 
York  shook  his  head.  He  said  it  ought  to  bca 
steady  hand  to  train  a horse  for  the  first  seasu, 
and  not  a random  rider  like  Lord  Georji 
Ginger  used  to  like  it  very  much,  but  sometins 
when  she  came  back  I could  see  that  she  hti 
been  very  much  strained,  and  now  and  then  s.e 
gave  a short  cough.  She  had  too  much  spirit  o; 
complain,  but  I could  not  help  feeling  anxids 
about  her. 

Two  days  after  the  accident,  Blantyre  p:d 
me  a visit;  he  patted  me  and  praised  me  vey 
much.  He  told  Lord  George  that  he  was  sure  l.ei 
horse  knew  of  Annie’s  danger  as  well  as  he  di 
“X  could  not  have  held  him  in  if  I would,”  said  e. 
“She  ought  never  to  ride  any  other  horse.” 

I found  by  their  conversation  that  my  youg 
mistress  was  now  out  of  danger,  and  word 
soon  be  able  to  ride  again.  This  was  good  nes 
to  me,  and  I looked  forward  to  a happy  life. 


Chapter  XXV 


REUBEN  SMITH 


1 MUST  now  say  a little  about  Reuben  Smith, 
J who  was  left  in  charge  of  the  stables  when 

York  went  to  London.  No  one  more  thor- 
oghly  understood  his  business  than  he  did, 
aid  when  he  was  all  right  there  could  not  be  a 
dare  faithful  or  valuable  man.  He  was  gentle 
aid  very  clever  in  his  management  of  horses, 
aid  could  doctor  them  almost  as  well  as  a 
f rrier,  for  he  had  lived  two  years  with  a vet- 
erinary surgeon.  He  was  a first-rate  driver;  he 
culd  take  a four-in-hand  or  a tandem  as  easily 
a a pair.  He  was  a handsome  man,  a good 
glholar,  and  had  very  pleasant  manners.  I 
hlieve  everybody  liked  him;  certainly  the 
Erses  did. 

The  only  wonder  was  that  he  should  be  in 
a under  situation,  and  not  in  the  place  of  a head 
cachman  like  York;  but  he  had  one  great  fault, 
a d that  was  the  love  of  drink.  He  was  not  like 
sme  men,  always  at  it;  he  used  to  keep  steady 
ft  weeks  or  months  together,  and  then  he 
ttmld  break  out  and  have  a “bout”  of  it,  as  York 
died  it,  and  be  a disgrace  to  himself,  a terror 
t his  wife,  and  a nuisance  to  all  that  had  to  do 

137 


138 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


with  him.  He  was,  however,  so  useful  that  to 
or  three  times  York  had  hushed  the  matter  ljj 

But  one  night,  when  Reuben  had  to  driv<a 
party  home  from  a ball,  he  was  so  drunk  that  e 
could  not  hold  the  reins,  and  a gentleman  of  te 
party  had  to  mount  the  box  and  drive  the  lad:; 
home.  Of  course  this  could  not  be  hidden,  ad 
Reuben  was  at  once  dismissed.  His  poor  we 
and  little  children  had  to  turn  out  of  the  pre  y 
cottage  by  the  park  gate  and  go  where  thy 
could.  Old  Max  told  me  all  this,  for  it  happerd 
a good  while  ago;  but  shortly  before  Ginger  ad 
I came  Smith  had  been  taken  back  again. 

York  had  interceded  for  him  with  the  eal, 
who  is  very  kind-hearted,  and  the  man  hd 
promised  faithfully  that  he  would  never  tate 
another  drop  as  long  as  he  lived  there.  He  hd 
kept  his  promise  so  well  that  York  thought  e 
might  be  safely  trusted  to  fill  his  place  while  e 
was  away,  and  he  was  so  clever  and  honest  tht 
no  one  else  seemed  so  well  fitted  for  it. 

It  was  now  early  in  April,  and  the  famy 
was  expected  home  some  time  in  May.  The  ligt 
brougham  was  to  be  freshly  done  up,  and  & 
Colonel  Blantyre  was  obliged  to  return  to  Is 
regiment,  it  was  arranged  that  Smith  shoid 
drive  him  to  town  in  it,  and  ride  back.  For  tls 
purpose  he  took  the  saddle  with  him,  and  I ws 


REUBEN  SMITH 


139 


’Ibsen  for  the  journey.  At  the  station  the 
Lionel  gave  some  money  to  Smith  and  bade  him 
dod-by,  saying,  “Take  care  of  your  young  mis- 
ifcss,  Reuben,  and  don’t  let  Black  Auster  be 
licked  about  by  any  random  young  prig  that 
Tdnts  to  ride  him — keep  him  for  the  lady.” 

We  left  the  carriage  at  the  maker’s,  and 
B'iiith  rode  me  to  the  White  Lion,  and  ordered 
■h  hostler  to  feed  me  well  and  have  me  ready 
(r  him  at  four  o’clock.  A nail  in  one  of  my 
does  had  started  as  I came  along,  but  the  hostler 
1:1  not  notice  it  till  just  about  four  o’clock. 
Siith  did  not  come  into  the  yard  till  five,  and 
dpn  he  said  he  should  not  leave  till  six,  as  he 
i|d  met  with  some  old  friends.  The  man  told 
lin  of  the  nail,  and  asked  if  he  should  have  the 
doe  looked  to. 

“No,  that  will  be  all  right  till  we  get  home.” 

He  spoke  in  a very  loud,  off-hand  way,  and 
[ bought  it  very  unlike  him  not  to  see  about  the 
she,  as  he  was  generally  particular  about  loose 
nils  in  our  shoes.  He  did  not  come  at  six,  nor 
J^en,  nor  eight,  and  it  was  nearly  nine  o’clock 
nfore  he  called  for  me,  and  then  it  was  with  a 
o d,  rough  voice.  He  seemed  in  bad  temper, 
ni  abused  the  hostler,  though  I could  not  tell 
flat  for. 

The  landlord  stood  at  the  door  and  said, 


140 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Have  a care,  Mr.  Smith !”  but  he  answer  l 
angrily  with  an  oath,  and  almost  before  he  w; 
out  of  the  town  he  began  to  gallop,  frequent’ 
giving  me  a sharp  cut  with  his  whip,  though: 
was  going  at  full  speed.  The  moon  had  not  y; 
risen,  and  it  was  very  dark.  The  roads  we  3 
stony,  and  going  over  them  at  this  pace,  my  sh> 
became  loose,  and  when  we  were  near  ti 
turnpike  gate  it  came  off. 

If  Smith  had  been  in  his  right  senses  3 
would  have  been  sensible  of  something  wrong  1 
my  pace,  but  he  was  too  madly  drunk  to  noth 
anything. 

Beyond  the  turnpike  was  a long  piece  f 
road,  upon  which  fresh  stones  had  just  been  lsl 
— large,  sharp  stones,  over  which  no  horse  coil 
be  driven  quickly  without  risk  of  danger.  Ovr 
this  road,  with  one  shoe  gone,  I was  forced  3 
gallop  at  my  utmost  speed,  my  rider  meanwhs 
cutting  into  me  with  his  whip,  and  with  w:l 
curses  urging  me  to  go  still  faster.  Of  course  ry 
shoeless  foot  suffered  dreadfully;  the  hoof  ws 
broken  and  split  down  to  the  very  quick,  and  te 
inside  was  terribly  cut  by  the  sharpness  of  te 
stones. 

This  could  not  go  on;  no  horse  could  kep 
his  footing  under  such  circumstances;  the  pa: 
was  too  great.  I stumbled,  and  fell  with  violere 


REUBEN  SMITH 


141 


m both  my  knees.  Smith  was  flung  off  by  my 
fall,  and,  owing  to  the  speed  I was  going  at,  he 
nust  have  fallen  with  great  force.  I soon  recov- 
ered my  feet  and  limped  to  the  side  of  the  road, 
iyhere  it  was  free  from  stones. 

The  moon  had  just  risen  above  the  hedge, 
md  by  its  light  I could  see  Smith  lying  a few 
prds  beyond  me.  He  did  not  rise;  he  made  one 
slight  effort  to  do  so,  and  then  there  was  a heavy 
rroan.  I could  have  groaned,  too,  for  I was 
suffering  intense  pain  both  from  my  foot  and 
pees;  but  horses  are  used  to  bear  their  pain  in 
silence.  I uttered  no  sound,  but  I stood  there  and 
listened.  One  more  heavy  groan  from  Smith; 
)ut  though  he  now  lay  in  the  full  moonlight,  I 
ould  see  no  motion.  I could  do  nothing  for  him 
ior  myself,  but  oh!  how  I listened  for  the  sound 
>f  horse,  or  wheels,  or  footsteps!  The  road  was 
lot  much  frequented,  and  at  this  time  of  the 
sight  we  might  stay  for  hours  before  help  came 
o us.  I stood  watching  and  listening. 

It  was  a calm,  sweet  April  night;  there  were 
io  sounds  but  a few  low  notes  of  a nightingale, 
nd  nothing  moved  but  the  white  clouds  near 
he  moon  and  a brown  owl  that  flitted  over  the 
edge.  It  made  me  think  of  the  summer  nights 
)ng  ago,  when  I used  to  lie  beside  my  mother  in 
he  green  pleasant  meadow  at  Farmer  Grey's. 


I uttered  no  sound,  but  just  stood  there  and  listened 


Chapter  XXVI 
HOW  IT  ENDED 


FT  MUST  have  been  nearly  midnight  when  I 
£ heard  at  a great  distance  the  sound  of  a 
horse’s  feet.  Sometimes  the  sound  died  away, 
hen  it  grew  clearer  again  and  nearer.  The  road 
o Earlshall  led  through  woods  that  belonged  to 
he  earl;  the  sound  came  from  that  direction, 
nd  I hoped  it  might  be  someone  coming  in 
earch  of  us.  As  the  sound  came  nearer  and 
earer,  I was  almost  sure  I could  distinguish 
ringer’s  step;  a little  nearer  still,  and  I could 
bII  she  was  in  the  dog  cart.  I neighed  loudly, 
jind  was  overjoyed  to  hear  an  answering  neigh 
rom  Ginger,  and  men’s  voices.  They  came 
lowly  over  the  stones,  and  stopped  at  the  dark 
gure  that  lay  upon  the  ground. 

One  of  the  men  jumped  out  and  stooped 
own  over  it.  “It  is  Reuben,”  he  said,  “and  he 
oes  not  stir!” 

The  other  man  followed,  and  bent  over  him. 
He’s  dead,”  he  said,  “feel  how  cold  his  hands 
;re.” 

They  raised  him  up,  but  there  was  no  life, 
nd  his  hair  was  soaked  with  blood.  They  laid 

143 


144 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


him  down  again,  and  came  and  looked  at  me, 
They  soon  saw  my  cut  knees. 

“Why,  the  horse  has  been  down  and  thrown 
him!  Who  would  have  thought  the  black  horse 
would  have  done  that?  Nobody  thought  he  could 
fall.  Reuben  must  have  been  lying  here  foi 
hours!  Odd,  too,  that  the  horse  has  not  moved 
from  the  place.” 

Robert  then  attempted  to  lead  me  forward. 
I made  a step,  but  almost  fell  again. 

“Halloo!  he’s  bad  in  his  foot  as  well  as  in 
his  knees.  Look  here — his  hoof  is  cut  all  tc 
pieces;  he  might  well  come  down,  poor  fellow! 
I tell  you  what,  Ned,  I’m  afraid  it  hasn’t  been 
all  right  with  Reuben.  Just  think  of  his  riding 
a horse  over  these  stones  without  a shoe!  Why. 
if  he  had  been  in  his  right  senses,  he  would  just 
as  soon  have  tried  to  ride  him  over  the  moon.  Fin 
afraid  it  has  been  the  old  thing  over  again. 

“Poor  Susan ! She  looked  awfully  pale  when 
she  came  to  my  house  to  ask  if  he  had  not  come 
home.  She  made  believe  she  was  not  a bit 
anxious,  and  talked  of  a lot  of  things  that  might 
have  kept  him.  But  for  all  that  she  begged  me 
to  go  and  meet  him.  But  what  must  we  do' 
There’s  the  horse  to  get  home  as  well  as  the 
body,  and  that  will  be  no  easy  matter.” 

Then  followed  a conversation  between 


HOW  IT  ENDED 


145 


hem,  till  it  was  agreed  that  Robert,  the  groom, 
hould  lead  me,  and  that  Ned  must  take  the  body, 
t was  a hard  job  to  get  it  into  the  dogcart,  for 
here  was  no  one  to  hold  Ginger;  but  she  knew 
Is  well  as  I did  what  was  going  on,  and  stood  as 
till  as  a stone.  I noticed  that,  because,  if  she 
iad  a fault,  it  was  that  she  was  impatient  in 
tanding. 

Ned  started  off  very  slowly  with  his  sad 
Dad,  and  Robert  came  and  looked  at  my  foot 
gain;  then  he  took  his  handkerchief  and  bound 
p closely  round,  and  so  he  led  me  home.  I shall 
ever  forget  that  night  walk;  it  was  more  than 
hree  miles.  Robert  led  me  on  very  slowly,  and 
limped  and  hobbled  on  as  well  as  I could  with 
Teat  pain.  I am  sure  he  was  sorry  for  me,  for 
e often  patted  and  encouraged  me,  talking  to 
le  in  a pleasant  voice. 

At  last  I reached  my  own  box,  and  had  some 
orn;  and  after  Robert  had  wrapped  up  my 
nees  in  wet  cloths  he  tied  up  my  foot  in  a bran 
"oultice,  to  draw  out  the  heat  and  cleanse  it 
before  the  horse  doctor  saw  it  in  the  morning.  I 
managed  to  get  myself  down  on  the  straw,  and 
I'.ept  in  spite  of  the  pain. 

The  next  day,  after  the  farrier  had 
• cammed  my  wounds,  he  said  he  hoped  the  joint 
as  not  injured;  and  if  so,  I should  not  be  spoiled 


146 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


for  work,  but  I should  never  lose  the  blemish, 
believe  they  did  the  best  to  make  a good  cure 
but  it  was  a long  and  painful  one.  Proud  flesl 
as  they  called  it,  came  up  in  my  knees,  and  wa 
burned  out  with  caustic;  and  when  at  last  it  wa 
healed,  they  put  a blistering  fluid  over  the  fron 
of  both  knees  to  bring  all  the  hair  off.  They  ha< 
some  reason  for  this,  and  I suppose  it  wa 
all  right. 

As  Smith’s  death  had  been  so  sudden,  an 
no  one  was  there  to  see  it,  there  was  an  inques 
held.  The  landlord  and  hostler  at  the  Whit 
Lion,  with  several  other  people,  gave  evidenc 
that  he  was  intoxicated  when  he  started  fror 
the  inn.  The  keeper  of  the  tollgate  said  he  rod 
at  a hard  gallop  through  the  gate;  and  my  sho 
was  picked  up  among  the  stones,  so  that  th 
case  was  quite  plain  to  them,  and  I was  cleare* 
of  all  blame. 

Everybody  pitied  Susan.  She  was  near! 
out  of  her  mind;  she  kept  saying  over  and  ove 
again : “Oh ! he  was  so  good — so  good ! It  was  a' 
that  cursed  drink;  0 Reuben,  Reuben!” 

So  she  went  on  till  after  he  was  buried;  an 
then,  as  she  had  no  home  or  relation,  she  wit' 
her  six  little  children,  was  obliged  once  more  t 
leave  the  pleasant  home  by  the  tall  oak  trees  an 
go  into  that  great,  gloomy  Union  House. 


Chapter  XXVII 

RUINED,  AND  GOING  DOWNHILL 

S SOON  as  my  knees  were  sufficiently  healed 
I was  turned  into  a small  meadow  for  a 
month  or  two;  no  other  creature  was 
ere,  and  though  I enjoyed  the  liberty  and  the 
eet  grass,  yet  I had  been  so  long  used  to 
ciety  that  I felt  very  lonely.  Ginger  and  I had 
come  fast  friends,  and  now  I missed  her 
mpany  extremely. 

I often  neighed  when  I heard  horses’  feet 
ssing  in  the  road,  but  I seldom  got  an  answer, 
1 one  morning  the  gate  was  opened,  and  who 
ould  come  in  but  dear  old  Ginger.  The  man 
ipped  off  her  halter  and  left  her  there.  With 
joyful  whinny  I trotted  up  to  her.  We  were 
)th  glad  to  meet,  but  I soon  found  that  it  was 
j)t  for  our  pleasure  that  she  was  brought  to  be 
vith  me.  Her  story  would  be  too  long  to  tell,  but 
e end  of  it  was  that  she  had  been  ruined  by 
jird  riding,  and  was  now  turned  off  to  see  what 
st  would  do. 

Lord  George  was  young  and  would  take  no 
irning;  he  was  a hard  rider,  and  would  hunt 
lenever  he  could  get  the  chance,  quite  careless 


148 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


of  his  horse.  Soon  after  I left  the  stable  thei 
was  a steeplechase,  and  he  determined  to  rid< 
Though  the  groom  told  him  she  was  a litt] 
strained,  and  was  not  fit  for  the  race,  he  did  nc 
believe  it,  and  on  the  day  of  the  race  urge 
Ginger  to  keep  up  with  the  foremost  riders.  Wit 
her  high  spirit,  she  strained  herself  to  the  u 
most;  she  came  in  with  the  first  three  horses,  bi 
her  wind  was  touched,  besides  which  he  was  tc 
heavy  for  her,  and  her  back  was  strained. 

“And  so,”  she  said,  “here  we  are,  ruined  i 
the  prime  of  our  youth  and  strength,  you  by  \ 
drunkard  and  I by  a fool;  it  is  very  hard.” 

We  both  felt  in  ourselves  that  we  were  n( 
what  we  had  been.  However,  that  did  not  spo 
the  pleasure  we  had  in  each  other’s  compan; 
We  did  not  gallop  around  as  we  once  did,  but  w 
used  to  feed  and  lie  down  together,  and  stand  fc 
hours  under  one  of  the  shady  lime  trees  with  oi 
heads  close  to  each  other;  and  so  we  passed  or 
time  until  the  family  returned  from  town. 

One  day  we  saw  the  earl  come  into  t Y : 
meadow,  and  York  was  with  him.  Seeing  who  • 
was,  we  stood  still  under  our  lime  tree,  and  It 
them  come  up  to  us.  They  examined  us  carefull; 
The  earl  seemed  much  annoyed. 

“There  is  three  hundred  pounds  flung  awa  i 
for  no  earthly  use,”  said  he,  “but  what  I care  fc 


RUINED 


149 


tat  is  that  these  horses  of  my  old  friend,  who 
fought  they  would  find  a good  home  with  me, 
ae  ruined.  The  mare  shall  have  a twelve 
months’  run,  and  we  shall  see  what  that  will  do 
Ifir  her;  but  the  black  one  must  be  sold.  ’Tis  a 
Meat  pity,  but  I could  not  have  knees  like  these 
: it  my  stables.” 

.1  [ “No,  my  lord,  of  course  not,”  said  York, 
3 rut  he  might  get  a place  where  appearance  is 
it  of  much  consequence,  and  still  be  well 
Abated.  I know  a man  in  Bath,  the  master  of 
feme  livery  stables,  who  often  wants  a good 
irse  at  a low  figure;  I know  he  looks  well  after 
m horses.  The  inquest  cleared  the  horse’s  char- 
si  ,cer,  and  your  lordship’s  recommendation  or 
Marne  would  be  sufficient  warrant  for  him.” 
it!  \ “You  had  better  write  to  him,  York.  I 
itbbuld  be  more  particular  about  the  place  than 
money  he  would  fetch.”  After  this  they 
us. 

“They’ll  soon  take  you  away,”  said  Ginger, 
‘1  shall  lose  the  only  friend  I have,  and  most 
ely  we  shall  never  see  each  other  again.  ’Tis 
ard  world!” 

ifi  i About  a week  after  this  Robert  came  into 
h field  with  a halter,  which  he  slipped  over  my 
aljtd,  and  led  me  away.  There  was  no  leave- 
lea  ing  of  Ginger;  we  neighed  to  each  other  as 


vtil 

odi 


Ginger  and  I neighed  to  each  other  as  I was  led  off  by  Robei 


RUINED 


151 


Iwas  led  off,  and  she  trotted  anxiously  along  by 
tie  hedge,  calling  to  me  as  long  as  she  could 
fear  the  sound  of  my  feet. 

Through  the  recommendation  of  York  I 
vas  bought  by  the  master  of  the  stables.  I 
hid  to  go  by  train,  which  was  new  to  me,  and 
rquired  a good  deal  of  courage  the  first  time; 
bit  as  I found  the  puffing,  rushing,  whistling, 
aid,  more  than  all,  the  trembling  of  the  horse 
bx  in  which  I stood  did  me  no  real  harm,  I soon 
took  it  quietly. 

When  I reached  the  end  of  my  journey  I 
fund  myself  in  a tolerably  comfortable  stable, 
a d well  attended  to.  These  stables  were  not 
3<  airy  and  pleasant  as  those  I had  been  used  to. 
Tie  stalls  were  laid  on  a slope  instead  of  being 
idrel,  and  as  my  head  was  kept  tied  to  the  man- 
?r,  I was  always  obliged  to  stand  on  the  slope, 
fliich  was  very  fatiguing. 

Men  do  not  seem  to  know  yet  that  horses 
in  do  more  work  if  they  can  stand  comfortably 
ill  can  turn  about;  however,  I was  well  fed  and 
vll  cleaned,  and,  on  the  whole,  I think  our  mas- 
;e  took  as  much  care  of  us  as  he  could.  He  kept 
i rood  many  horses  and  carriages  of  different 
dds  for  hire.  Sometimes  his  own  men  drove 
'dim;  at  others,  the  horse  and  chaise  were  let 
^gentlemen  or  ladies  who  drove. 


i 


Chapter  XXVIII 

A JOB  HORSE  AND  HIS  DRIVERS 

HITHERTO  I had  always  been  driven  ]/ 
people  who  at  least  knew  how  to  driv; 
but  in  this  place  I was  to  get  my  expe;- 
ence  of  all  the  different  kinds  of  bad  and  ignl 
rant  driving  to  which  we  horses  are  subjecte; 
for  I was  a “job  horse,”  and  was  let  out  to  ;1 
sorts  of  people  who  wished  to  hire  me.  Asl 
was  good-tempered,  I think  I was  oftener  let  ot 
to  the  ignorant  drivers  than  some  of  the  othr 
horses,  because  I could  be  depended  upon,  t 
would  take  a long  time  to  tell  of  all  the  differet 
styles  in  which  I was  driven,  but  I will  mentii 
a few  of  them. 

First,  there  were  the  tight-rein  drivers- 
men  who  seemed  to  think  that  all  depended  p 
holding  the  reins  as  hard  as  they  could,  new 
relaxing  the  pull  on  the  horse’s  mouth,  or  g - 
ing  him  the  least  liberty  of  movement.  Thy 
are  always  talking  about  keeping  the  horse  wll 
in  hand,  and  holding  a horse  up,  just  as  ifa 
horse  was  not  made  to  hold  himself  up. 

Some  poor,  broken-down  horses,  whce 
mouths  have  been  made  hard  and  insensible  y 

152 


A JOB  HORSE 


153 


jst  such  drivers  as  these,  may  perhaps  find 
sjme  support  in  it;  but  for  a horse  who  can 
dpend  upon  his  own  legs,  and  who  has  a tender 
nouth  and  is  easily  guided,  it  is  not  only  tor 
renting,  but  it  is  stupid. 

Then  there  are  the  loose-rein  drivers,  who 
lc  the  reins  lie  easily  on  our  backs,  and  their 
(hinds  rest  lazily  on  their  knees.  Of  course  such 
[gentlemen  have  no  control  over  a horse,  if  any- 
thing happens  suddenly.  If  a horse  shies,  or 
farts,  or  stumbles,  they  are  nowhere,  and  can- 
nt  help  the  horse  or  themselves  till  the  mischief 
kdone.  I had  no  objection  to  it,  as  I was  not 
ii  the  habit  of  either  starting  or  stumbling,  and 
■hid  only  been  used  to  depend  on  my  driver  for 
fcdance  and  encouragement.  Still,  one  likes 
%l  feel  the  rein  a little  in  going  downhill,  and 
li  es  to  know  that  one's  driver  has  not  gone  to 


Besides,  a slovenly  way  of  driving  gets  a 
rse  into  bad  and  often  lazy  habits;  and  when 
h changes  hands  he  has  to  be  whipped  out  of 
tbm  with  more  or  less  pain  and  trouble.  Squire 
Grdon  always  kept  us  to  our  best  paces  and  our 
b |st  manners.  He  said  that  spoiling  a horse  and 
le  ting  him  get  into  bad  habits  was  just  as  cruel 
a!  spoiling  a child,  and  both  had  to  suffer  for 
^afterwards. 


154 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


Besides,  these  drivers  are  often  careles 
altogether,  and  will  attend  to  anything  else  mce 
than  their  horses.  I went  out  in  the  phaetn 
one  day  with  one  of  them;  he  had  a lady  ad 
two  children  behind.  He  flopped  the  reins  abe  t 
as  we  started,  and  gave  me  several  unmeant? 
cuts  with  the  whip,  though  I was  fairly  off. 

There  had  been  a good  deal  of  road  mer  ■ 
ing  going  on,  and  even  where  the  stones  wee 
not  freshly  laid  down  there  were  a great  may 
loose  ones  about.  My  driver  was  laughing  ad 
joking  with  the  lady  and  the  children,  and  tal- 
ing  about  the  country  to  the  right  and  to  te 
left;  but  he  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  kep 
an  eye  on  his  horse,  or  to  drive  on  the  smooths t 
parts  of  the  road;  and  so  it  happened  that  1 gt 
a stone  in  one  of  my  forefeet. 

Now,  if  Mr.  Gordon,  or  John,  or  in  fact  a.y 
good  driver,  had  been  there,  he  would  hae 
seen  that  something  was  wrong  before  I hi 
gone  three  paces.  Or  even  if  it  had  been  dar, 
a practiced  hand  would  have  felt  by  the  rei 
that  there  was  something  wrong  in  the  step,  ail 
they  would  have  got  down  and  picked  out  t'e 
stone.  But  this  man  went  on  laughing  ail 
talking,  while  at  every  step  the  stone  becare 
more  firmly  wedged  between  my  shoe  and  t's 
frog  of  my  foot.  The  stone  was  sharp  on  ta 


A JOB  HORSE 


155 


i:side  and  round  on  the  outside,  which,  as  every- 
cie  knows  is  the  most  dangerous  kind  that  a 
brse  can  pick  up,  at  the  same  time  cutting  his 
fot,  and  making  him  most  liable  to  stumble  and 
fill. 

Whether  the  man  was  partly  blind,  or  only 
vry  careless,  I can’t  say;  but  he  drove  me  with 
tat  stone  in  my  foot  for  a good  half  mile  before 
h saw  anything.  By  that  time  I was  going  so 
line  with  the  pain  that  at  last  he  saw  it,  and 
died  out,  “Well,  here’s  a go!  Why,  they  have 
snt  us  out  with  a lame  horse!  What  a shame!” 

He  then  chucked  the  reins  and  flipped  about 
dth  the  whip,  saying,  “Now,  then,  it’s  no  use 
paying  the  old  soldier  with  me;  there’s  the  jour- 
njy  to  go,  and  it’s  no  use  turning  lame  and  lazy.” 

Just  at  this  time  a farmer  came  riding  up 

0 a brown  cob;  he  lifted  his  hat  and  pulled  up. 

“I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,”  he  said,  “but 

1 hink  there  is  something  the  matter  with  your 
hrse;  he  goes  very  much  as  if  he  had  a stone 
ir  his  shoe.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I will  look  at 
hi;  feet;  these  loose  scattered  stones  are  con- 
fanded  dangerous  things  for  the  horses.” 

“He’s  a hired  horse,”  said  my  driver.  “I 
dm’t  know  what’s  the  matter  with  him,  but  it 
is  a great  shame  to  send  out  a lame  beast  like 
tls.” 

I 


156 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


The  farmer  dismounted,  and  took  up  ir 
near  foot.  “Bless  me,  there’s  a stone!  Lam 
I should  think  so!” 

At  first  he  tried  to  dislodge  it  with  his  han< 
but  as  it  was  now  very  tightly  wedged,  he  dre’ 
a stone  pick  out  of  his  pocket,  and  very  car 
fully,  and  with  some  trouble,  got  it  out.  The 
holding  it  up,  he  said,  “There,  that’s  the  stor 
your  horse  had  picked  up;  it  is  a wonder  1 
did  not  fall  down  and  break  his  knees  into  tl 
bargain!” 

“Well,  to  be  sure!”  said  my  driver,  “th; 
is  a queer  thing!  I never  knew  that  horse 
picked  up  stones  before.” 

“Didn’t  you?”  said  the  farmer  rather  coi 
temptuously,  “but  they  do,  though,  and  the  be 
of  them  will  do  it,  and  can’t  help  it  sometim( 
on  such  roads  as  these.  And  if  you  don’t  wai 
to  lame  your  horse  you  must  look  sharp  ar. 
get  them  out  quickly.  This  foot  is  very  muc 
bruised,”  he  said,  setting  it  gently  down  ar 
patting  me.  “You  had  better  drive  him  gent' 
for  a while;  the  foot  is  a good  deal  hur 
and  the  lameness  will  not  go  off  directly 
Then  mounting  his  cob  and  raising  his  hat  1 
the  lady,  he  trotted  off.  Needless  to  say,  I w; 
very  grateful  to  him. 

When  he  was  gone  my  driver  began  to  flc 


A JOB  HORSE 


157 


tie  reins  about  and  whip  the  harness,  by  which 
junderstood  that  I was  to  go  on,  which  of  course 
i did,  glad  that  the  stone  was  gone,  but  still 
ia  a good  deal  of  pain.  This  was  the  sort  of 
experience  we  job  horses  often  came  in  for. 


Chapter  XXIX 
COCKNEYS 

THEN  there  is  the  steam-engine  style  o 
driving;  these  drivers  were  mostly  peopl 
from  towns,  who  never  had  a horse  of  thei 
own,  and  generally  traveled  by  rail. 

They  always  seemed  to  think  that  a hors 
was  something  like  a steam  engine,  only  smallei 
At  any  rate,  they  think  that  if  only  they  pay  fo 
it  a horse  is  bound  to  go  just  as  far  and  jus 
as  fast  and  with  just  as  heavy  a load  as  the; 
please.  And  be  the  roads  heavy  and  muddy,  o 
dry  and  good;  be  they  stony  or  smooth,  uphil 
or  downhill,  it  is  all  the  same — on,  on,  on,  on 
must  go,  at  the  same  pace,  with  no  relief  and  n 
consideration. 

These  people  never  think  of  getting  out  t 
walk  up  a steep  hill.  Oh,  no,  they  have  paid  t 
ride,  and  ride  they  will!  The  horse?  Oh,  he’ 
used  to  it!  What  were  horses  made  for,  if  no 
to  drag  people  uphill?  Walk?  A good  jok< 
indeed!  And  so  the  whip  is  plied  and  the  reii 
is  chucked,  and  often  a rough,  scolding  voic< 
cries  out,  “Go  along,  you  lazy  beast!”  And  thei 
another  slash  of  the  whip,  when  all  the  tim< 
we  are  doing  our  very  best  to  get  along,  un 

158 


COCKNEYS  159 

omplaining  and  obedient,  though  often  sorely 
jarassed  and  down-hearted. 

This  steam-engine  style  of  driving  wears 
is  out  faster  than  any  other  kind.  I would  far 
Ether  go  twenty  miles  with  a good,  considerate 
(river  than  I would  go  ten  with  some  of  these; 
f would  take  less  out  of  me. 

Another  thing,  they  scarcely  ever  put  on 
lie  brake,  however  steep  the  downhill  may  be, 
aid  thus  bad  accidents  sometimes  happen.  Or 
i they  do  put  it  on,  they  often  forget  to  take  it 
of  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  More  than  once  I 
lave  had  to  pull  halfway  up  the  next  hill,  with 
(ie  of  the  wheels  held  by  the  brake,  before  my 
eiver  chose  to  think  about  it,  and  that  is  a 
trrible  strain  on  a horse. 

Then  these  cockneys,  instead  of  starting  at 
a easy  pace,  as  a gentleman  would  do,  gener- 
Ely  set  off  at  full  speed  from  the  very  stable 
jird;  and  when  they  want  to  stop,  they  first 
\hip  us,  and  then  pull  up  so  suddenly  that  we 
ce  nearly  thrown  on  our  haunches,  and  our 
r ouths  jagged  with  the  bit.  They  call  that  pull- 
i g up  with  a dash.  When  they  turn  a corner, 
tey  do  it  as  sharply  as  if  there  were  no  right 
c wrong  side  of  the  road. 

I well  remember  one  spring  evening  Rory 
aid  I had  been  out  for  the  day.  (Rory  was  the 


J 


160 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


horse  that  usually  went  with  me  when  a pair  ws 
ordered,  and  a good,  honest  fellow  he  was.)  W 
had  our  own  driver,  and,  as  he  was  always  cor 
siderate  and  gentle  with  us,  we  had  a ver 
pleasant  day. 

We  were  coming  home  at  a good  smai 
pace,  about  twilight.  Our  road  turned  sharp  t 
the  left,  but  as  we  were  close  to  the  hedge  o 
our  own  side,  and  there  was  plenty  of  room  t 
pass,  our  driver  did  not  pull  us  in.  As  we  neare 
the  corner  I heard  a horse  and  two  wheels  con 
ing  rapidly  down  the  hill  toward  us.  The  hedg 
was  high,  and  I could  see  nothing,  but  the  nex 
moment  we  were  upon  each  other.  Happily  fo 
me,  I was  on  the  side  next  the  hedge.  Rory  wa 
on  the  left  side  of  the  pole,  and  had  not  even 
shaft  to  protect  him. 

The  man  who  was  driving  was  making 
straight  for  the  corner,  and  when  he  cam 
in  sight  of  us  he  had  no  time  to  pull  over  to  hi 
own  side.  The  whole  shock  came  upon  Rorj 
The  gig  shaft  ran  right  into  his  chest,  making 
him  stagger  back  with  a cry  that  I shall  neve 
forget.  The  other  horse  was  thrown  upon  hi 
haunches  and  one  shaft  broken.  It  turned  ou 
that  it  was  a horse  from  our  own  stables,  wit. 
the  high-wheeled  gig  that  the  young  men  wer 
so  fond  of. 


COCKNEYS 


161 


The  driver  was  one  of  those  random,  igno- 
ant  fellows  who  don’t  even  know  which  is  their 
wn  side  of  the  road,  or,  if  they  know,  don’t 
are.  And  there  was  poor  Rory  with  his  flesh 
orn  open  and  bleeding,  and  the  blood  streaming 
}own.  They  said  if  it  had  been  a little  more  to 
ne  side  it  would  have  killed  him;  and  a good 
hing  for  him,  poor  fellow,  if  it  had. 

As  it  was,  it  was  a long  time  before  the 
round  healed,  and  then  he  was  sold  for  coal 
arting;  and  what  that  is  up  and  down  those 
iteep  hills,  only  horses  know.  Some  of  the  sights 
jsaw  there,  where  a horse  had  to  come  downhill 
yith  a heavily  loaded  two-wheeled  cart  behind 
:im,  on  which  no  brake  could  be  placed,  make 
;ie  sad  even  now  to  think  of. 

After  Rory  was  disabled,  I often  went  in 
lie  carriage  with  a mare  named  Peggy,  who 
i,:ood  in  the  next  stall  to  mine.  She  was  a 
strong,  well-made  animal,  of  a bright  dun  color, 
feautifully  dappled,  and  with  a dark  brown 
i^iane  and  tail.  There  was  no  high  breeding 
oout  her,  but  she  was  very  pretty,  and  remark- 
ily  sweet-tempered  and  willing.  Still  there  was 
ii  anxious  look  about  her  eye,  by  which  I knew 
hat  she  had  . some  trouble.  The  first  time  we 
lent  out  together  I thought  she  had  a very  odd 
pee;  she  seemed  to  go  partly  a trot,  partly  a 


162 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


canter,  three  or  four  paces,  and  then  a littl 
jump  forward. 

It  was  very  unpleasant  for  any  horse  wh 
pulled  with  her,  and  made  me  quite  fidget: 
When  we  got  home  I asked  her  what  made  he 
go  in  that  odd,  awkward  way. 

“Ah,”  she  said,  in  a troubled  manner,  ‘ 
know  my  paces  are  very  bad,  but  what  can  I dc 
It  really  is  not  my  fault;  it  is  just  because  m 
legs  are  so  short.  I stand  nearly  as  high  as  yoi 
but  your  legs  are  a good  three  inches  longe 
above  your  knee  than  mine,  and  of  course  yo 
can  take  a much  longer  step  and  go  much  faste 
You  see  I did  not  make  myself.  I wish  I ccul 
have  done  so;  I would  have  had  long  legs  thei 
All  my  troubles  come  from  my  short  legs,”  sa; 
Peggy,  in  a desponding  tone. 

“But  how  is  it,”  I said,  “when  you  are  s 1 
strong  and  good-tempered  and  willing?” 

“Why,  you  see,”  said  she,  “men  will  go  & 1 
fast,  and  if  one  can't  keep  up  to  other  horses,  I 
is  nothing  but  whip,  whip,  whip,  all  the  tim  ; 
And  so  I have  had  to  keep  up  as  I could,  and  ha^ 
got  into  this  ugly,  shuffling  pace.  It  was  n<; 
always  so;  when  I lived  with  my  first  master' 
always  went  a good,  regular  trot;  but  then  b 
was  not  in  such  a hurry.  He  was  a young  coun- 
try clergyman,  and  a good,  kind  master.  He  hd 


COCKNEYS 


163 


wo  churches  a good  way  apart,  and  a great  deal 
<f  work,  but  he  never  scolded  or  whipped  me  for 
lot  going  faster.  He  was  very  fond  of  me.  I 
<nly  wish  I was  with  him  now;  but  he  went  to  a 
irge  town,  and  then  I was  sold  to  a farmer. 

“Some  farmers,  you  know,  are  capital  mas- 
Brs,  but  I think  this  one  was  a low  sort  of  man. 
le  cared  nothing  about  good  horses  or  good 
criving;  he  only  cared  for  going  fast.  I went  as 
ast  as  I could,  but  that  would  not  do,  and  he  was 
ilways  whipping;  so  I got  into  this  way  of  mak- 
iig  a spring  forward  to  keep  up.  On  market 
rights  he  used  to  stay  very  late  at  the  inn,  and 
ten  drive  home  at  a gallop. 

“One  dark  night  he  was  galloping  home  as 
■sual,  when  all  on  a sudden  the  wheel  came 
gainst  some  great,  heavy  thing  in  the  road,  and 
iirned  the  gig  over.  He  was  thrown  out  and  his 
;rm  was  broken,  and  some  of  his  ribs,  I think.  At 
iny  rate,  it  was  the  end  of  my  living  with  him, 
;nd  I was  not  sorry.  But  you  see  it  will  be  the 
ame  everywhere  for  me,  if  men  must  go  so  fast. 
' wish  my  legs  were  longer !” 

Poor  Peggy!  I was  very  sorry  for  her,  and 
3 could  not  comfort  her,  for  I knew  how  hard 
i was  upon  slow-paced  horses  to  be  put  with 
iist  ones;  all  the  whipping  comes  to  their  share, 
|nd  they  can't  help  it 

j 


164 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


She  was  often  used  in  the  phaeton,  and  ws 
very  much  liked  by  some  of  the  ladies,  becaus 
she  was  so  gentle;  and  some  time  after  this  sh 
was  sold  to  two  ladies  who  themselves  drov< 
and  wanted  a safe,  good  horse.  I met  her  se^ 
eral  times  out  in  the  country,  going  a goo( 
steady  pace,  and  looking  as  contented  as  a hors 
could  be.  I was  glad  to  see  her,  for  she  deserve 
a good  place. 

After  she  left  us,  another  horse  came  i 
her  stead.  He  was  young,  and  had  a bad  nan 
for  shying  and  starting,  by  which  he  had  lost 
good  place.  I asked  him  what  made  him  shy.  , 

“Well,  I hardly  know,”  he  said.  “I  ws 
timid  when  I was  young,  and  was  a good  dei 
frightened  several  times,  and  if  I saw  anythin 
strange  I used  to  turn  and  look  at  it.  You  se 
with  our  blinkers  one  can’t  see  or  understan 
what  a thing  is  unless  one  looks  around.  The 
my  master  always  gave  me  a whipping,  whicl 
of  course,  made  me  start  on,  and  did  not  mak 
me  less  afraid.  I think  if  he  would  have  let  ir 
just  look  at  things  quietly,  and  see  that  thei 
was  nothing  to  hurt  me,  it  would  have  been  a 
right,  and  I should  have  got  used  to  them. 

“One  day  an  old  gentleman  was  riding  wit 
him,  and  a large  piece  of  white  paper  or  ra 
blew  across  just  on  one  side  of  me.  I shied  an 


COCKNEYS 


165 


sarted  forward.  My  master  as  usual  whipped 
re  smartly,  but  the  old  man  cried  out,  ‘You’re 
vrong!  you’re  wrong!  You  should  never  whip 
a horse  for  shying;  he  shies  because  he  is 
tightened,  and  you  only  frighten  him  more 
aid  make  the  habit  worse.’  So  I suppose  all  men 
d>n’t  do  so. 

“I  am  sure  I don’t  want  to  shy  for  the  sake 
o'  it;  but  how  should  one  know  what  is  danger- 
ois  and  what  is  not,  if  one  is  never  allowed  to 
gst  used  to  anything?  I am  never  afraid  of  what 
iknow.  Now,  I was  brought  up  in  a park  where 
t ere  were  deer;  of  course  I knew  them  as  well 
a I did  a sheep  or  a cow,  but  they  are  not  com- 
non,  and  I know  many  sensible  horses  who  are 
tightened  at  them,  and  who  kick  up  quite  a 
sindy  before  they  will  pass  a paddock  where 
t'ere  are  deer.” 

’ I knew  what  my  companion  said  was  true, 
aid  I wished  that  every  young  horse  had  as  good 
Rasters  as  Farmer  Grey  and  Squire  Gordon. 

; Of  course  we  sometimes  came  in  for  good 
diving  here.  I remember  one  morning  I was 
pit  into  the  light  gig,  and  taken  to  a house  in 
Filteney  Street.  Two  gentlemen  came  out;  the 
tiler  of  them  came  round  to  my  head;  he  looked 
a:  the  bit  and  bridle,  and  just  shifted  the  collar 
w th  his  hand,  to  see  if  it  fitted  comfortably. 

u 

I 


166 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Do  you  consider  this  horse  wants  a curb' 
he  said  to  his  hostler. 

“Well/’  said  the  man,  “I  should  say  he  wovl 
go  just  as  well  without;  he  has  an  uncommi 
good  mouth,  and  though  he  has  a fine  spirit  3 
has  no  vice;  but  we  generally  find  people  hi 
the  curb.” 

“I  don’t  like  it,”  said  the  gentleman,  “3 
so  good  as  to  take  it  off,  and  put  the  rein  in  t 
the  check.  An  easy  mouth  is  a great  thing  1 
a long  journey,  is  it  not,  old  fellow?”  he  sa, 
patting  my  neck. 

Then  he  took  the  reins,  and  they  both  gi 
up.  I can  remember  now  how  quietly  he  turnl 
me  round,  and  then  with  a light  feel  of  the  re, 
and  drawing  the  whip  gently  across  my  ban 
we  were  off.  I arched  my  neck  and  set  off  at  ry 
best  pace.  I found  I had  someone  behind  me  wo 
knew  how  a good  horse  ought  to  be  driven,  t 
seemed  like  old  times  again,  and  made  me  fcl 
quite  gay. 

This  gentleman  took  a great  liking  c 
me,  and  after  trying  me  several  times  with  te 
saddle  he  prevailed  upon  my  master  to  sell  ]f 
to  a friend  of  his,  who  wanted  a safe,  pleasat 
horse  for  riding.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  thl 
in  the  summer  I was  sold  to  Mr.  Barry. 


Chapter  XXX 


A THIEF 


i yTY  NEW  master  was  an  unmarried  man. 

He  lived  at  Bath,  and  was  engaged  in 
business.  His  doctor  advised  him  to  take 
•rse  exercise,  and  for  this  purpose  he  bought 
3.  He  hired  a stable  a short  distance  from  his 
Igings,  and  engaged  a man  named  Filcher  as 
oom.  My  master  knew  very  little  about  horses, 
it  he  treated  me  well,  and  I should  have  had  a 
)od  and  easy  place  but  for  circumstances  of 
lich  he  was  ignorant.  He  ordered  the  best  hay 
th  plenty  of  oats,  crushed  beans,  and  bran, 
th  vetches,  or  rye  grass,  as  the  man  might 
ink  needful.  I heard  the  master  give  the  order, 
I knew  there  was  plenty  of  good  food,  and  I 
ought  I was  well  off. 

For  a few  days  all  went  on  well.  I found 
at  my  groom  understood  his  business.  He  kept 
e stable  clean  and  airy,  and  he  groomed 
3 thoroughly,  and  was  never  otherwise  than 
intle.  He  had  been  a hostler  in  one  of  the  great 
tels  in  Bath.  He  had  given  that  up,  and  now 
Itivated  fruit  and  vegetables  for  the  market, 
d his  wife  bred  and  fattened  poultry  and 
bbits  for  sale. 


167 


168 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


After  a while  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  oal 
came  very  short.  I had  the  beans,  but  bran  m 
mixed  with  them  instead  of  oats,  of  which  thei 
were  very  few ; certainly  not  more  than  a qua: 
ter  of  what  there  should  have  been.  In  two  c 
three  weeks  this  began  to  tell  upon  my  strengt 
and  spirits.  The  grass  food,  though  very  gooi 
was  not  the  thing  to  keep  up  my  condition  witl 
out  corn.  However,  I could  not  complain,  nc 
make  known  my  wants.  So  it  went  on  for  aboi 
two  months,  and  I wondered  my  master  did  n( 
see  that  something  was  the  matter.  Howeve 
one  afternoon  he  rode  out  into  the  country  to  se 
a friend  of  his,  a gentleman  farmer,  who  live 
on  the  road  to  Wells. 

This  gentleman  had  a very  quick  eye  fc 
horses;  and  after  he  had  welcomed  his  friend  b 
said,  casting  his  eye  over  me,  “It  seems  to  m< 
Barry,  that  your  horse  does  not  look  so  well  s 
he  did  when  you  first  had  him;  has  he  bee 
well?” 

“Yes,”  said  my  master,  “but  he  is  not  nearl 
so  lively  as  he  was.  My  groom  tells  me  the 
horses  are  always  dull  and  weak  in  the  autumi 
and  that  I must  expect  it.” 

“Autumn,  fiddlesticks!”  said  the  farme: 
“Why,  this  is  only  August;  and  with  your  ligl 
work  and  good  food  he  ought  not  to  go  down  lik 


A THIEF  169 

tps,  even  if  it  was  autumn.  How  do  you  feed 
rjm?" 

My  master  told  him.  The  other  shook  his 
bad  slowly,  and  began  to  feel  me  over. 

“I  can't  say  who  eats  your  corn,  my  dear 
tllow,  but  I am  much  mistaken  if  your  horse 
l$ts  it.  Have  you  ridden  fast?" 

“No,  very  gently." 

“Then  just  put  your  hand  here,"  said  he, 
pissing  his  hand  over  my  neck  and  shoulder. 
Me  is  as  warm  and  damp  as  a horse  just  come 
ip  from  grass.  I advise  you  to  look  into  your 
liable  a little  more.  I hate  to  be  suspicious,  and, 
aank  Heaven,  I have  no  cause  to  be,  for  I can 
tust  my  men,  present  or  absent;  but  there  are 
l ean  scoundrels,  wicked  enough  to  rob  a dumb 
bast  of  his  food;  you  must  look  into  it."  And 
timing  to  the  man  who  had  come  to  take 
re,  said,  “Give  this  horse  a right  good  feed  of 
buised  oats,  and  don’t  stint  him." 

“Dumb  beasts!"  Yes,  we  are;  but  if  I could 
live  spoken  I could  have  told  my  master  where 
I s oats  went  to.  My  groom  used  to  come  every 
rorning  about  six  o’clock,  and  with  him  a little 
by,  who  always  had  a covered  basket  with  him. 
le  used  to  go  with  his  father  into  the  harness 
rom,  where  the  corn  was  kept,  and  I could  see 
t ern,  when  the  door  stood  ajar,  fill  a little  bag 


170  BLACK  BEAUTY 

with  oats  out  of  the  bin,  and  then  he  used  t 
be  off. 

Five  or  six  mornings  after  this,  just  as  th 
boy  had  left  the  stable,  a policeman  walked  ii 
holding  the  child  tight  by  the  arm.  Another  fo 
lowed  and  locked  the  door  on  the  inside,  saying 
“Show  me  the  place  where  your  father  keep 
his  rabbits’  food.” 

The  boy  looked  very  frightened  and  bega 
to  cry;  but  there  was  no  escape,  and  he  led  th 
way  to  the  corn  bin.  Here  the  policeman  four 
another  empty  bag  like  that  which  was  four 
full  of  oats  in  the  boy’s  basket. 

Filcher  was  cleaning  my  feet  at  the  tim< 
but  they  soon  saw  him,  and  though  he  blustere 
a good  deal  they  walked  him  off  to  the  “lockup, 
and  his  boy  with  him.  I heard  afterwards  ths 
the  boy  was  not  held  to  be  guilty,  but  the  ma 
was  sentenced  to  prison  for  two  months. 


Chapter  XXXI 
A HUMBUG 


M 


Y MASTER  was  not  immediately  suited, 
but  in  a few  days  my  new  groom 
came.  He  was  a tall,  good-looking  fellow 
eiough;  but  if  ever  there  was  a humbug  in  the 
siape  of  a groom  Alfred  Smirk  was  the  man. 
le  was  very  civil  to  me,  and  never  used  me  ill; 
i:  fact,  he  did  a great  deal  of  stroking  and  pat- 
tag,  when  his  master  was  there  to  see  it.  He 
sways  brushed  my  mane  and  tail  with  water, 
aid  my  hoofs  with  oil,  before  he  brought  me  to 
te  door,  to  make  me  look  smart;  but  as  to 
ceaning  my  feet,  or  looking  to  my  shoes,  or 
gooming  me  thoroughly,  he  thought  no  more 
c that  than  if  I had  been  a cow.  He  left  my  bit 
r.sty,  my  saddle  damp,  and  my  crupper  stiff. 

Alfred  Smirk  considered  himself  very  hand- 
sme;  he  spent  a deal  of  time  about  his  hair, 
viiskers,  and  necktie  before  a little  looking- 
g ass  in  the  harness  room.  When  his  master  was 
seaking  to  him  it  was  always  “Yes,  sir;  yes, 
s:*” — touching  his  hat  at  every  word;  and  every- 
e thought  he  was  a very  nice  young  man,  and 


172  BLACK  BEAUTY 

that  Mr.  Barry  was  very  fortunate  to  meet  wit 
him. 

I should  say  he  was  the  laziest,  most  coi 
ceited  fellow  I ever  came  near.  Of  course  it  we 
a great  thing  not  to  be  ill-used,  but  then  a hors 
wants  more  than  that.  I had  a loose  box,  an 
might  have  been  very  comfortable  if  he  had  m 
been  too  indolent  to  clean  it  out.  He  never  too 
all  the  straw  away,  and  the  smell  from  what  la 
underneath  was  very  bad;  while  the  stron 
vapors  that  rose  made  my  eyes  smart,  and  I di 
not  feel  the  same  appetite  for  my  food. 

One  day  his  master  came  in  and  sai( 
“Alfred,  the  stable  smells  rather  strong;  shoul 
not  you  give  that  stall  a good  scrub,  and  thro’ 
down  plenty  of  water?” 

“Well,  sir,”  he  said,  touching  his  cap,  “F 
do  so  if  you  please,  sir;  but  it  is  rather  dange] 
ous,  sir,  throwing  down  water  in  a horse’s  bos 
they  are  very  apt  to  take  cold,  sir.  I should  nc 
like  to  do  him  an  injury,  but  I’ll  do  it  if  yo 
please,  sir.” 

“Well,”  said  his  master,  “I  should  not  lik 
him  to  take  cold,  but  I don’t  like  the  smell  of  thi 
stable.  Do  you  think  the  drains  are  all  right?” 

“Well,  sir,  now  you  mention  it,  I think  th 
drain  does  sometimes  send  back  a smell;  ther 
may  be  something  wrong,  sir.” 


A HUMBUG  173 

“Then  send  for  the  bricklayer  and  have  it 
pen  to,”  said  his  master. 

“Yes,  sir,  I will.” 

The  bricklayer  came,  and  pulled  up  a great 
lany  bricks,  but  found  nothing  amiss;  so  he  put 
own  some  lime,  and  charged  the  master  five 
hillings,  and  the  smell  in  my  box  was  as  bad  as 
ver.  But  that  was  not  all;  standing  as  I did 
n a quantity  of  moist  straw,  my  feet  grew 
mhealthy  and  tender,  and  the  master  used  to 
ay:  “I  don’t  know  what  is  the  matter  with  this 
lorse;  he  goes  very  fumble-footed.  I am  some- 
imes  afraid  he  will  stumble.” 

“Yes,  sir,”  said  Alfred,  “I  have  noticed  the 
ame  myself,  when  I have  exercised  him.” 

Now  the  fact  was  that  he  hardly  ever  did 
exercise  me,  and  when  the  master  was  busy  I 
iften  stood  for  days  together  without  stretching 
ny  legs  at  all,  and  yet  being  fed  just  as  high  as 
f I were  at  hard  work.  This  often  disordered 
ny  health,  and  made  me  sometimes  heavy  and 
lull,  but  more  often  restless  and  feverish.  He 
lever  gave  me  a meal  of  green  food  or  a bran 
nash,  which  would  have  cooled  me,  for  he  was 
altogether  as  ignorant  as  he  was  conceited;  and 
hen,  instead  of  exercise  or  change  of  food,  I 
lad  to  take  horseballs  and  drafts  which, 
resides  the  nuisance  of  having  them  poured 


174 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


down  my  throat,  used  to  make  me  feel  ill  an( 
uncomfortable. 

One  day  my  feet  were  so  tender  that,  trot 
ting*  over  some  fresh  stones  with  my  master  oi 
my  back,  I made  two  such  serious  stumbles  tha 
as  he  came  down  Lansdown  into  the  city,  h< 
stopped  at  the  farrier’s,  and  asked  him  to  se< 
what  was  the  matter  with  me.  The  man  tool 
up  my  feet  one  by  one  and  examined  them;  thei 
standing  up  and  dusting  his  hands  one  agains 
the  other,  he  said : 

“Your  horse  has  got  the  thrush,  and  badly 
too;  his  feet  are  very  tender;  it  is  fortunate  tha 
he  has  not  been  down.  I wonder  your  groom  ha; 
not  seen  to  it  before.  This  is  the  sort  of  thini 
we  find  in  foul  stables,  where  the  litter  is  neve] 
properly  cleaned  out.  If  you  will  send  him  hen 
tomorrow,  I will  attend  to  the  hoof,  and  I wil 
direct  your  man  how  to  apply  the  liniment  whici 
I will  give  him.” 

The  next  day  I had  my  feet  thoroughly 
cleansed  and  stuffed  with  tow  soaked  in  som( 
strong  lotion ; and  a very  unpleasant  business  r 
was. 

The  farrier  ordered  all  the  litter  to  be  taker 
out  of  my  box,  day  by  day,  and  the  floor  kep 
very  clean.  Then  I was  to  have  bran  mashes, ; 
little  green  food,  and  not  so  much  corn,  till  my 


The  farrier  examined  my  feet  one  by  one 


176 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


feet  were  well  again.  With  this  treatment  I soo: 
regained  my  spirits;  but  Mr.  Barry  was  so  muci 
disgusted  at  being  twice  deceived  by  his  groom 
that  he  determined  to  give  up  keeping  a horse 
and  to  hire  when  he  wanted  one.  I was  therefor 
kept  till  my  feet  were  quite  well,  and  was  the] 
sold  again. 


PART  111 


Chapter  XXXII 
A HORSE  FAIR 


VTO  DOUBT  a horse  fair  is  a very  amusing 
place  to  those  who  have  nothing  to  lose; 
at  any  rate,  there  is  plenty  to  see. 

Long  strings  of  young  horses  out  of  the 
ountry,  fresh  from  the  marshes;  and  droves 
t shaggy  little  Welsh  ponies,  no  higher  than 
lerrylegs;  and  hundreds  of  cart  horses  of  all 
prts,  some  of  them  with  their  long  tails  braided 
ip  and  tied  with  scarlet  cord;  and  a good  many 
^ke  myself,  handsome  and  high-bred,  but  fallen 
ito  the  middle  class  through  some  accident  or 
llemish,  unsoundness  of  wind,  or  some  other 
omplaint. 

There  were  some  splendid  animals  quite  in 
neir  prime,  and  fit  for  anything.  They  were 
lrowing  out  their  legs  and  showing  off  their 
laces  in  high  style,  as  they  were  trotted  out  with 
; leading  rein,  the  groom  running  by  their  side, 
jut  round  in  the  background  there  were  a num- 
br  of  poor  things,  sadly  broken  down  with  hard 
vork,  with  their  knees  knuckling  over  and  their 
knd  legs  swinging  out  at  every  step;  and  there 

177 


178 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


were  some  very  dejected-looking  old  horses,  wit 
the  underlip  hanging  down  and  the  ears  lyin 
back  heavily,  as  if  there  were  no  more  pleasrn 
in  life,  and  no  more  hope.  There  were  some  5 
thin  you  might  see  all  their  ribs,  and  some  wit 
old  sores  on  their  backs  and  hips.  These  wei 
sad  sights  for  a horse  to  look  upon,  who  kno\* 
not  but  that  he  may  come  to  the  same  state. 

There  was  a great  deal  of  bargaining,  ( 
running  up  and  beating  down;  and,  if  a hors 
may  speak  his  mind,  so  far  as  he  understands, 
should  say  there  were  more  lies  told  and  moi 
trickery  at  that  horse  fair  than  a clever  ma 
could  give  an  account  of.  I was  put  with  two  ( 
three  other  strong,  useful-looking  horses,  and 
good  many  people  came  to  look  at  us.  The  gei 
tlemen  always  turned  from  me  when  they  sa 
my  broken  knees,  though  the  man  who  had  n 
swore  it  was  only  a slip  in  the  stall. 

The  first  thing  was  to  pull  my  mouth  ope: 
then  to  look  at  my  eyes,  then  feel  all  the  wa 
down  my  legs  and  give  me  a hard  feel  of  the  ski 
and  flesh,  and  then  try  my  paces.  It  was  wonde 
ful  what  a difference  there  was  in  the  way  the.ci 
things  were  done.  Some  did  it  in  a rough,  of 
hand  way,  as  if  one  was  only  a piece  of  wooc 
while  others  would  move  their  hands  gently  ove 
one’s  body,  with  a pat  now  and  then,  as  much  ?> 


A HORSE  FAIR 


179 


tf  say,  “By  your  leave.”  Of  course  I judged  a 
£pod  deal  of  the  buyers  by  their  manners  to 
rjyself. 

There  was  one  man  that  made  me  think  that 
i he  would  buy  me  I should  be  happy.  He  was 
rpt  a gentleman,  nor  yet  one  of  the  loud,  flashy 
sjrt  that  called  themselves  so.  He  was  rather  a 
snail  man,  but  well  made,  and  quick  in  all  his 
rotions.  I knew  in  a moment,  by  the  way  he 
Bandied  me,  that  he  was  used  to  horses.  He 
sioke  gently,  and  his  gray  eye  had  a kindly, 
cteery  look  in  it.  It  may  seem  strange  to  say — 
ht  it  is  true  all  the  same — that  the  clean,  fresh 
snell  there  was  about  him  made  me  take  to  him. 
Here  was  no  smell  of  old  beer  and  tobacco, 
vhich  I hated,  but  a fresh  smell,  as  if  he  had 
erne  out  of  a hayloft.  He  offered  twenty-three 
punds  for  me;  but  that  was  refused,  and  he 
valked  away.  I looked  after  him,  but  he  was 
i>ne,  and  a very  hard-looking,  loud-voiced  man 
ame.  I was  dreadfully  afraid  he  would  have 
r,e,  but  he  walked  off. 

! One  or  two  more  came  who  did  not  mean 

asiness.  Then  the  hard-faced  man  came  back 
Spain  and  offered  twenty-three  pounds.  A very 
cpse  bargain  was  being  driven,  for  my  salesman 
bgan  to  think  he  should  not  get  all  he  asked, 
s id  must  come  down;  but  just  then  the  gray- 


180 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


eyed  man  came  back  again.  I could  not  hel] 
reaching  out  my  head  toward  him.  He  stroke 
my  face  kindly. 

“Well,  old  chap,”  he  said,  “I  think  we  shout 
suit  each  other.  I’ll  give  twenty-four  for  him. 

“Say  twenty-five,  and  you  shall  have  him. 

“Twenty-four  ten,”  said  my  friend,  in  ; 
very  decided  tone,  “and  not  another  sixpence- 
yes,  or  no?” 

“Done,”  said  the  salesman,  “and  you  ma; 
depend  upon  it  there’s  a monstrous  deal  o 
quality  in  that  horse,  and  if  you  want  him  fo 
cab  work  he  is  a bargain.” 

The  money  was  paid  on  the  spot,  and  m 
new  master  took  my  halter  and  led  me  out  o 
the  fair  to  an  inn,  where  he  had  a saddle  an 
bridle  ready.  He  gave  me  a good  feed  of  oats 
and  stood  by  while  I ate  it,  talking  to  himsel 
and  talking  to  me.  Half  an  hour  after  we  wer 
on  our  way  to  London,  through  pleasant  lane 
and  country  roads,  until  we  came  into  the  greal 
London  thoroughfare,  on  which  we  travele 
steadily,  till  in  the  twilight  we  reached  th 
great  city. 

The  gas  lamps  were  already  lighted;  ther 
were  streets  to  the  right,  and  streets  to  the  lef 
and  streets  crossing  each  other,  for  mile  upo 
mile.  I thought  we  should  never  come  to  th 


A HORSE  FAIR 


181 


jn}  of  them.  At  last  we  came  to  a long  cab 
itiind,  when  my  rider  called  out  in  a cheery  voice, 
‘God  night,  Governor!” 

“Halloo!”  cried  a voice.  “Have  you  got  a 
rod  one?” 

“I  think  so,”  replied  the  owner. 

“I  wish  you  luck  with  him.” 

“Thank  ye,  Governor,”  and  he  rode  on. 
N i soon  turned  up  one  of  the  side  streets,  and 
ibut  halfway  up  that  we  turned  into  a very 
is  tow  street  with  rather  poor-looking  houses 
>none  side,  and  what  seemed  to  be  coach  houses 
lit  stables  on  the  other. 

My  owner  pulled  up  at  one  of  the  houses 
irl  whistled.  The  door  flew  open  and  a young 
v<  nan,  followed  by  a little  girl  and  boy,  ran  out. 
Here  was  a very  lively  greeting  as  my  rider 
limounted.  “Now  then,  Harry,  my  boy,  open 
h gates,  and  mother  will  bring  us  the  lantern.” 
The  next  minute  they  were  all  standing 
■o  nd  me  in  a small  stable  yard. 

; “Is  he  gentle,  Father?” 

“Yes,  Dolly,  as  gentle  as  your  own  kitten; 
iojie  and  pat  him.”  At  once  the  little  hand  was 
)ating  about  over  my  shoulder  without  fear. 
Iw  good  it  felt! 

“Let  me  get  him  a bran  mash  while  you  rub 
li  i down,”  said  the  mother. 


i 


182 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Do,  Polly,  it’s  just  what  he  wants;  ancl 
know  you’ve  got  a beautiful  mash  ready  for  m<  ’ 
“Sausage  dumpling  and  apple  turnover 
shouted  the  boy,  which  set  them  all  laughir. 
I was  led  into  a comfortable,  clean-smelling  stl 
with  plenty  of  dry  straw,  and  after  a capital  su- 
per I lay  down,  thinking  I was  going  to  be  happ 


Chapter  XXXIII 
A LONDON  CAB  HORSE 


Y NEW  master’s  name  was  Jeremiah 
Barker,  but  as  everyone  called  him  Jerry, 
I shall  do  the  same.  Polly,  his  wife,  was 
jut  as  good  a match  as  a man  could  have.  She 
ms  a plump,  trim,  tidy  little  woman,  with 
3i  ooth,  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  a merry  little 
liuth.  The  boy  was  nearly  twelve  years  old, 
i tall,  frank,  good-tempered  lad;  and  little 
Drothy  (Dolly  they  called  her)  was  her  mother 
mr  again  at  eight  years  old.  They  were  all 
^nderfully  fond  of  each  other;  I never  knew 
juh  a happy,  merry  family  before  or  since. 

Jerry  had  a cab  of  his  own,  and  two  horses, 
vich  he  drove  and  attended  to  himself.  His 
)1ier  horse  was  a tall,  white,  rather  large-boned 
dimal,  called  Captain.  He  was  old  now,  but 
n en  he  was  young  he  must  have  been  splendid. 
3:  had  still  a proud  way  of  holding  his  head  and 
dihing  his  neck;  in  fact,  he  was  a high-bred, 
ije-mannered,  noble  old  horse,  every  inch  of 
liici.  He  told  me  that  in  his  early  youth  he  went 
;cthe  Crimean  War;  he  belonged  to  an  officer 
rthe  cavalry,  and  used  to  lead  the  regiment 
[ ill  tell  more  of  that  hereafter. 


184 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


The  next  morning,  when  I was  w] 
groomed,  Polly  and  Dolly  came  into  the  yard  o 
see  me  and  make  friends.  Harry  had  been  he  >• 
ing  his  father  since  the  early  morning,  and  hi 
stated  his  opinion  that  I should  turn  out  “a  reg* 
lar  brick.”  Polly  brought  me  a slice  of  apple,  ai 
Dolly  a piece  of  bread,  and  made  as  much  of  le 
as  if  I had  been  the  “Black  Beauty”  of  olda 
time.  It  was  a great  treat  to  be  petted  ag£a 
and  talked  to  in  a gentle  voice,  and  I let  thui 
see  as  well  as  I could  that  I wished  to  be  friendf. 
Polly  thought  I was  very  handsome,  and  to 
good  for  a cab,  if  it  was  not  for  the  broken  knes. 

“There’s  no  one  to  tell  us  whose  fault  tht 
was,”  said  Jerry,  “and  as  long  as  I don’t  kn<v 
I shall  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt;  foia 
firmer,  neater  stepper  I never  rode.  We’ll  ell 
him  ‘Jack,’  after  the  Colonel — shall  we,  Polly” 
“Do,”  she  said,  “for  I like  the  name.” 
Captain  went  out  in  the  cab  all  mornir?. 
Harry  came  in  after  school  to  feed  me  and  gie 
me  water.  In  the  afternoon  I was  put  into  te 
cab.  Jerry  took  as  much  pains  to  see  if  the  d* 
lar  and  bridle  fitted  comfortably  as  if  he  hd 
been  John  Manly  over  again.  When  the  cruppr 
was  let  out  a hole  or  two,  it  all  fitted  well.  Thee 
was  no  checkrein,  no  curb,  nothing  but  a pkn 
ring  snaffle.  What  a blessing  that  was ! 


A LONDON  CAB  HORSE  185 


After  driving  through  the  side  street  we 
eatne  to  the  large  cab  stand  where  Jerry  had  said 
“(ood  night.”  On  one  side  of  this  wide  street 
wire  high  houses  with  wonderful  shop  fronts, 
aid  on  the  other  was  an  old  church  and  church- 
yjrd  surrounded  by  iron  palisades. 

Alongside  these  iron  rails  a number  of  cabs 
wire  drawn  up,  waiting  for  passengers.  Bits 
ojhay  were  lying  about  on  the  ground.  Some 
lithe  men  were  standing  together  talking;  some 
wre  sitting  on  their  boxes  reading  the  news- 
pipers;  and  one  or  two  were  feeding  their  horses 
with  bits  of  hay,  and  giving  them  a drink  of 
wtter.  We  pulled  up  in  the  rank  at  the  back 
lithe  last  cab.  Two  or  three  men  came  round 
a d began  to  look  at  me  and  pass  their  remarks. 

“Very  good  for  a funeral,”  said  one. 

“Too  smart-looking,”  said  another,  shaking 
hji  head  in  a very  wise  way,  “you’ll  find  out 
something  wrong  one  of  these  fine  mornings,  or 
nv  name  isn’t  Jones.” 

“Well,”  said  Jerry  pleasantly,  “I  suppose  I 
n ed  not  find  it  out  till  it  finds  me  out,  eh?  And 
if  30,  I’ll  keep  up  my  spirits  a little  longer.” 

Then  there  came  up  a broad-faced  man, 
dessed  in  a great  gray  coat  with  gray  capes 
a d great  white  buttons,  a gray  hat,  and  a blue 
c nforter  tied  loosely  around  his  neck.  His 


186 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


hair  was  gray,  too;  but  he  was  a jolly-lookiif  i 
fellow,  and  the  other  men  made  way  for  hi:. 
He  looked  me  all  over,  as  if  he  had  been  going  j 
buy  me,  and  then  straightening  himself  withi 
grunt,  he  said,  “He’s  the  right  sort  for  yc, 
Jerry;  I don’t  care  what  you  gave  for  him,  he! 
be  worth  it.”  Thus  my  character  was  establish! 
on  the  stand. 

This  man’s  name  was  Grant,  but  he  w; 
called  “Gray  Grant,”  or  “Governor  Grant.”  h 
had  been  the  longest  on  that  stand  of  any  of  tljs 
men,  and  he  took  it  upon  himself  to  settle  ms- 
ters  and  stop  disputes.  He  was  generally  \ 
good-humored,  sensible  man;  but  if  his  temp’ 
was  a little  out,  as  it  was  sometimes  when  he  h<l 
drunk  too  much,  nobody  liked  to  come  too  ner 
his  fist,  for  he  could  deal  a very  heavy  blow. 

The  first  week  of  my  life  as  a cab  horse  w;> 
trying.  I had  never  been  used  to  London,  an 
the  noise,  the  hurry,  the  crowds  of  horses,  car; 
and  carriages,  that  I had  to  make  my  wa 
through,  made  me  feel  anxious  and  harasse 
But  I soon  found  that  I could  trust  my  drive, 
and  then  I made  myself  easy,  and  got  used  to 

Jerry  was  as  good  a driver  as  I had  eve 
known,  and  what  was  better,  he  took  as  mua 
thought  for  his  horses  as  he  did  for  himself,  h 
soon  found  out  that  I was  willing  to  work  ail 


A LONDON  CAB  HORSE  187 


h never  laid  the  whip  on  me,  unless  it  was  gently 
dawing  the  end  of  it  over  my  back,  when  I was 
tcgo  on.  Generally  I knew  this  quite  well  by 
tie  way  in  which  he  took  up  the  reins;  and  I 
blieve  his  whip  was  more  frequently  stuck  up 
b;  his  side  than  in  his  hand. 

In  a short  time  my  master  and  I understood 
e;ch  other  as  well  as  horse  and  man  can  do.  In 
tlb  stable  he  did  all  that  he  could  for  our  com- 
f(ft.  The  stalls  were  the  old-fashioned  style, 
to  much  on  the  slope;  but  he  had  two  movable 
brs  fixed  across  the  back  of  our  stalls,  so  that 
a night,  when  we  were  resting,  he  just  took  ofic 
o r halters  and  put  up  the  bars,  and  thus  we 
culd  turn  and  stand  whichever  way  we  pleased. 
Tiis  is  a great  comfort. 

Jerry  kept  us  very  clean,  and  gave  us  as 
nich  change  of  food  as  he  could,  and  always 
plenty  of  it.  Not  only  that,  but  he  always  gave 
u plenty  of  fresh,  clean  water,  which  he  allowed 
t<  stand  by  us  both  night  and  day,  except,  of 
curse,  when  we  came  in  warm. 

Some  people  say  that  a horse  ought  not  to 
dink  all  he  likes;  but  I know  if  we  are  allowed 
t<  drink  when  we  want  it  we  drink  only  a little 
a a time,  and  it  does  us  a great  deal  more  good 
tlan  swallowing  down  half  a bucketful  at  a 
the,  because  we  have  been  left  without  it  till 


188 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


we  are  thirsty  and  miserable.  Some  groon 
will  go  home  to  their  beers,  and  leave  us  f- 
hours  with  our  dry  hay  and  oats  and  nothing  i 
moisten  them.  Then  of  course  we  gulp  dov. 
too  much  at  once,  which  helps  to  spoil  ov 
breathing  and  sometimes  chills  our  stomach 
But  the  best  thing  that  we  had  here  was  ov 
Sundays  for  rest! 

We  worked  so  hard  in  the  week  that  I do  n ; 
think  we  could  have  kept  up  to  it  but  for  th; 
day;  besides,  we  had  time  to  enjoy  each  othei; 
company.  It  was  on  these  days  that  I learnti 
my  companion’s  history. 


Chapter  XXXIV 
AN  OLD  WAR  HORSE 


i 


i 

APT  AIN  had  been  broken  in  and  trained 
Ls  for  an  army  horse.  His  first  owner  was 

an  officer  of  cavalry  going  out  to  the 
Crimean  War.  He  said  he  quite  enjoyed  the 
jraining  with  all  the  other  horses,  trotting 
ogether,  turning  together,  to  the  right  hand  or 
he  left,  halting  at  the  word  of  command,  or 
lashing  forward  at  full  speed  at  the  sound  of  the 
rumpet  or  signal  of  the  officer.  He  was,  when 
jfoung,  a dark,  dappled  iron  gray,  and  considered 
fery  handsome. 

His  master,  a young,  high-spirited  gentle- 
aan,  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  treated  him 
rom  the  first  with  the  greatest  care  and  kind- 
tess.  He  told  me  he  thought  the  life  of  an  army 
torse  was  very  pleasant;  but  when  it  came  to 
ieing  sent  abroad  over  the  sea  in  a great  ship, 
e almost  changed  his  mind. 

“That  part  of  it,”  said  he,  “was  dreadful! 
)f  course  we  could  not  walk  off  the  land  into  the 
hip;  so  they  were  obliged  to  put  strong  straps 
nder  our  bodies.  Then  we  were  lifted  off  our 
Bgs  in  spite  of  our  struggles,  and  were  swung 


190 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


through  the  air  over  the  water  to  the  deck  o: 
the  great  vessel.  There  we  were  placed  ii 
small,  close  stalls,  and  never  for  a long  firm 
saw  the  sky,  or  were  able  to  stretch  our  legs 
The  ship  sometimes  rolled  about  in  high  winds 
and  we  were  knocked  about,  and  felt  badl? 
enough.  At  last  it  came  to  an  end,  and  we  were 
hauled  up  and  swung  over  again  to  the  land 
We  were  very  glad,  and  snorted  and  neighed  fo: 
joy,  when  we  once  more  felt  firm  ground  unde: 
our  feet. 

“We  soon  found  that  the  country  we  hac 
come  to  was  very  different  from  our  own,  anc 
that  we  had  many  hardships  to  endure  beside1 
the  fighting;  but  many  of  the  men  were  so  font 
of  their  horses  that  they  did  everything  the? 
could  to  make  them  comfortable,  in  spite  o: 
snow,  wet,  and  all  things  out  of  order.” 

“But  what  about  the  fighting?”  said  I 
“was  not  that  worse  than  anything  else?” 

“Well,”  said  he,  “I  hardly  know.  W< 
always  liked  to  hear  the  trumpet  sound,  and  t( 
be  called  out,  and  were  impatient  to  start  off 
though  sometimes  we  had  to  stand  for  hours 
waiting  for  the  word  of  command.  When  th« 
word  was  given,  we  used  to  spring  forward  a 
gaily  and  eagerly  as  if  there  were  no  cannon 
balls,  bayonets,  or  bullets.  I believe  so  long  a 


AN  OLD  WAR  HORSE  191 


m felt  our  rider  firm  in  the  saddle,  and  his  hand 
teady  on  the  bridle,  not  one  of  us  gave  way  to 
ear,  not  even  when  the  terrible  bombshells 
whirled  through  the  air  and  burst  into  a thou- 
and  pieces. 

“My  noble  master  and  I went  into  many 
actions  together  without  a wound,  and  though 
saw  horses  shot  down  with  bullets,  pierced 
hrough  with  lances,  and  gashed  with  fearful 
aber  cuts,  though  we  left  them  dead  on  the  field, 
r dying  in  the  agony  of  their  wounds,  I don’t 
hink  I feared  for  myself.  My  master’s  cheery 
pice,  as  he  encouraged  his  men,  made  me  feel 
is  if  he  and  I could  not  be  killed.  I had  such 
erfect  trust  in  him  that  while  he  was  guiding 
le  I was  ready  to  charge  up  to  the  very  cannon’s 
pouth. 

“I  saw  many  brave  men  cut  down,  many 
all  mortally  wounded  from  their  saddles.  I 
ave  heard  the  cries  and  groans  of  the  dying,  I 
ave  cantered  over  ground  slippery  with  blood, 
nd  frequently  had  to  turn  aside  to  avoid  tramp- 
ng  on  a wounded  man  or  horse,  but,  until  one 
readful  day,  I had  never  felt  terror;  that  day 
shall  never  forget.” 

Here  old  Captain  paused  for  a while  and 
Tew  a long  breath;  I waited,  and  he  went  on. 

“It  was  one  autumn  morning,  and,  as  usual, 


192 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


an  hour  before  daybreak  our  cavalry  had  turnec 
out,  ready  caparisoned  for  the  day’s  work 
whether  it  might  be  fighting  or  waiting.  Th( 
men  stood  by  their  horses  waiting,  ready  foi 
orders.  As  the  light  increased,  there  seemed  t( 
be  some  excitement  among  the  officers,  anc 
before  the  day  was  well  begun  we  heard  th( 
firing  of  the  enemy’s  guns. 

“Then  one  of  the  officers  rode  up  and  gav( 
the  word  for  the  men  to  mount.  In  a seconc 
every  man  was  in  his  saddle,  and  every  hors( 
stood  expecting  the  touch  of  the  rein  or  the  pres 
sure  of  his  rider’s  heels,  all  animated,  all  eager 
But  still  we  had  been  trained  so  well  that,  excep 
by  the  champing  of  our  bits  and  the  restive  toss- 
ing of  our  heads,  it  could  not  be  said  that  m 
stirred. 

“My  dear  master  and  I were  at  the  head  o: 
the  line,  and  as  all  sat  motionless  and  watchful 
he  took  a little  stray  lock  of  my  mane  which  hac 
turned  over  on  the  wrong  side,  laid  it  over  or 
the  right,  and  smoothed  it  down  with  his  hand 
Then  patting  my  neck,  he  said,  ‘We  shall  haw 
a day  of  it  today,  Bayard,  my  beauty;  but  we’l 
do  our  duty  as  we  have  done/ 

“He  stroked  my  neck  that  morning  more,  1 
think,  than  he  had  ever  before;  quietly  on  anc 
on,  as  if  he  were  thinking  of  something  else 


AN  OLD  WAR  HORSE  193 


loved  to  feel  his  hand  on  my  neck,  and  arched 
ly  crest  proudly  and  happily;  but  I stood  very 
till,  for  I knew  all  his  moods,  and  when  he  liked 
;ie  to  be  quiet,  and  when  gay. 

“I  cannot  tell  all  that  happened  on  that  day, 
ut  I will  tell  of  the  last  charge  that  we  made 
ogether.  It  was  across  a valley  right  in  front; 
f the  enemy’s  cannon.  By  this  time  we  were 
fell  used  to  the  roar  of  heavy  guns,  the  rattle 
i musketry  fire,  and  the  flying  of  shot  near  us; 
ut  never  had  I been  under  such  a fire  as  we  rode 
hrough  on  that  day.  From  the  right,  from  the 
'eft,  and  from  the  front,  shot  and  shell  poured 
n upon  us.  Many  a brave  man  went  down, 
jiany  a horse  fell,  flinging  his  rider  to  the  earth; 
:;iany  a horse  without  a rider  ran  wildly  out  of 
le  ranks;  then,  terrified  at  being  alone,  with 
jo  hand  to  guide  him,  came  pressing  in  among 
is  old  companions,  to  gallop  with  them  to  the 
barge. 

“Fearful  as  it  was,  no  one  stopped,  no  one 
urned  back.  Every  moment  the  ranks  were 
is  our  comrades  fell  we  closed  in 


naken  or  staggered  in  our  pace,  our  gallop 
ecame  faster  as  we  neared  the  cannon,  all 
< ouded  in  white  smoke,  while  the  red  fire  flashed 


together;  and  instead  of  being 


194 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“My  master,  my  dear  master,  was  cheering 
on  his  comrades  with  his  right  arm  raised  oi 
high,  when  one  of  the  balls  whizzing  close  to  m; 
head  struck  him.  I felt  him  stagger  with  th 
shock,  though  he  uttered  no  cry.  I tried  to  checl 
my  speed,  but  the  sword  dropped  from  his  righ 
hand,  the  rein  fell  loose  from  the  left,  and  sink 
ing  backward  from  the  saddle,  he  fell  to  th 
earth;  the  other  riders  swept  past  us,  and  by  th 
force  of  their  charge  I was  driven  from  the  spo 
where  he  fell. 

“I  wanted  to  keep  my  place  by  his  side,  an 
not  leave  him  under  that  rush  of  horses’  feel 
but  it  was  in  vain;  and  now,  without  a master  o 
a friend,  I was  alone  on  that  great  slaughte 
ground.  Then  fear  took  hold  of  me,  and 
trembled  as  I had  never  trembled  before;  and  i 
too,  as  I had  seen  other  horses  do,  tried  to  jof 
in  the  ranks  and  gallop  with  them;  but  I wa 
beaten  off  by  the  swords  of  the  soldiers.  Jus 
then,  a soldier  whose  horse  had  been  kille 
under  him  caught  at  my  bridle  and  mounted  m< 
and  with  this  new  master  I was  again  goin 
forward.  But  our  gallant  company  was  cruell 
overpowered,  and  those  who  remained  aliv 
after  the  fierce  fight  for  the  guns  came  gallopin 
back  over  the  same  ground. 

“Some  of  the  horses  had  been  so  badl 


AN  OLD  WAR  HORSE  195 


vounded  that  they  could  scarcely  move  from  the 
lss  of  blood;  other  noble  creatures  were  trying 
cl  three  legs  to  drag  themselves  along,  and 
chers  were  struggling  to  rise  on  their  forefeet, 
\jhen  their  hind  legs  had  been  shattered  by  shot. 
Oheir  groans  were  piteous  to  hear,  and  the  be- 
seeching look  in  their  eyes  as  those  who  escaped 
passed  them  by,  and  left  them  to  their  fate,  I 
stall  never  forget.  After  the  battle  the  wounded 
r en  were  brought  in,  and  the  dead  were  buried.” 
“And  what  about  the  wounded  horses?”  I 
Slid,  “were  they  left  to  die?” 

“No,  the  army  farriers  went  over  the  field 
vith  their  pistols  and  shot  all  that  were  ruined. 
k)me  that  had  only  slight  wounds  were  brought 
lick  and  attended  to,  but  the  greater  part  of 
t e noble,  willing  creatures  that  went  out  that 
rorning  never  came  back!  In  our  stables  there 
vas  only  about  one  in  four  that  returned. 

“I  never  saw  my  dear  master  again.  I 
blieve  he  fell  dead  from  the  saddle.  I never 
Wed  any  other  master  so  well.  I went  into  many 

!cher  engagements,  but  was  only  once  wounded, 
£]id  then  not  seriously;  and  when  the  war  was 
crer  I came  back  again  to  England,  as  sound 
Sjid  strong  as  when  I went  out.” 

I said,  “I  have  heard  people  talk  about  war 
£.  if  it  was  a very  fine  thing.” 


196 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Ah!”  said  he,  “I  should  think  they  never  sav 
it.  No  doubt  it  is  very  fine  when  there  is  n< 
enemy,  when  it  is  just  exercise  and  parade,  ant 
sham  fight.  Yes,  it  is  fine  then;  but  when  thou 
sands  of  good,  brave  men  and  horses  are  killet 
or  crippled  for  life,  it  has  a different  look.” 
“Do  you  know  what  they  fought  about?1 
said  I. 

“No,”  he  said,  “that  is  more  than  a hors 
can  understand;  but  the  enemy  must  have  beei 
awfully  wicked  people,  if  it  were  right  to  go  al 
that  way  over  the  sea  on  purpose  to  kill  them. 


Chapter  XXXV 
JERRY  BARKER 


1 NEVER  knew  a better  man  than  my  new 
master.  He  was  kind  and  good,  and  as 
strong  for  the  right  as  John  Manly;  and 
sc  good-tempered  and  merry,  that  very  few 
pople  could  pick  a quarrel  with  him.  He  was 
vry  fond  of  making  little  songs,  and  singing 
tbm  to  himself.  One  he  was  very  fond  of  was 
tts: 


Come,  father  and  mother, 
And  sister  and  brother, 
Come  all  of  you,  turn  to 
And  help  one  another. 


And  so  they  did.  Harry  was  as  clever  at 
3tble  work  as  a much  older  boy,  and  always 
voted  to  do  what  he  could.  Then  Polly  and 
Dlly  used  to  come  in  the  morning  to  help  with 
ihi  cab — to  brush  and  beat  the  cushions,  and 
t>  the  glass,  while  Jerry  was  giving  us  a clean- 
nr  in  the  yard,  and  Harry  was  rubbing  the 
ic’ness.  There  used  to  be  a deal  of  laughing 
irl  fun  between  them,  and  it  put  Captain  and 
n in  much  better  spirits  than  if  we  had  heard 
sc  lding  and  hard  words.  They  were  always  up 
saly  in  the  morning,  for  Jerry  would  say: 


198 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


If  you  in  the  morning 
Throw  minutes  away, 

You  can’t  pick  them  up 
In  the  course  of  the  day ; 

You  may  hurry  and  scurry. 

And  flurry  and  worry, 

You’ve  lost  them  forever. 

Forever  and  aye. 

He  could  not  bear  any  careless  loitering  ad 
waste  of  time;  and  nothing  was  so  near  makig 
him  angry  as  to  find  people,  who  were  alwss 
late,  wanting  a cab  horse  to  be  driven  hard,  o 
make  up  for  their  idleness. 

One  day  two  wild-looking  young  men  caie 
out  of  a tavern  close  by  the  stand  and  calld 
Jerry. 

“Here,  cabby!  look  sharp,  we  are  rathr 
late.  Put  on  the  steam,  will  you,  and  take  us  a 
the  Victoria  in  time  for  the  one  o’clock  trai? 
You  shall  have  a shilling  extra.” 

“I  will  take  you  at  the  regular  pace,  genth 
men;  shillings  don’t  pay  for  putting  on  stein 
like  that.” 

Larry’s  cab  was  standing  next  to  ours;  e 
flung  open  the  door  and  said,  “I’m  your  mil, 
gentlemen!  take  my  cab;  my  horse  will  get  yu 
there  all  right,”  and  as  he  shut  them  in  with 
wink  toward  Jerry,  said,  “It’s  against  his  co- 
science  to  go  beyond  a jog  trot.”  Then  slashig 


JERRY  BARKER 


199 


hs  jaded  horse,  he  set  off  as  hard  as  he  could 
Jerry  patted  me  on  the  neck.  “No,  Jack, 
a shilling  would  not  pay  for  that  sort  of 
tling — would  it,  old  boy?” 

Although  Jerry  was  set  against  hard 
diving  to  please  careless  people,  he  always  went 
a^ood,  fair  pace,  and  was  not  against  putting 
o:  the  steam,  as  he  said,  if  only  he  knew  why.  I 
raiember  one  morning  as  we  were  on  the  stand 
wiiting  for  a fare,  that  a young  man,  carrying 
a leavy  portmanteau,  trod  on  a piece  of  orange 
pel  and  fell  down  with  great  force. 

Jerry  was  the  first  to  run  and  lift  him  up. 
Hi  seemed  much  stunned,  and  as  they  led  him 
ir;o  a shop  he  walked  as  if  he  were  in  great  pain. 
Jcry,  of  course,  came  back  to  the  stand,  but  in 
abut  ten  minutes  one  of  the  shopmen  called 
h a,  so  we  drew  up  to  the  pavement. 

“Can  you  take  me  to  the  Southeastern 
Rilway?”  said  the  young  man.  “This  unlucky 
fa  has  made  me  late,  I fear;  but  it  is  of  great 
inoortance  that  I should  not  lose  the  twelve 

*si  r 

flock  train.  I should  be  most  thankful  if  you 
Xild  get  me  there  in  time,  and  will  gladly  pay 
ya  an  extra  fare.” 

“Fll  do  my  very  best,”  said  Jerry  heartily, 
:;‘i  you  think  you  are  well  enough,  sir,”  for  he 
djked  dreadfully  white  and  ill. 


200 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


‘T  must  go,”  he  said  earnestly,  “plese 
open  the  door,  and  let  us  lose  no  time.” 

The  next  minute  Jerry  was  on  the  box,  w h 
a cheery  chirrup  to  me  and  a twitch  of  the  m 
that  I well  understood. 

“Now,  then,  Jack,  my  boy,”  said  he,  “sin 
along;  well  show  them  how  we  can  get  over  te 
ground,  if  we  only  know  why.” 

It  is  always  difficult  to  drive  fast  in  the  cy 
in  the  middle  of  the  day,  when  the  streets  ce 
full  of  traffic,  but  we  did  what  could  be  dor:; 
and  when  a good  driver  and  a good  horse,  wo 
understand  each  other,  are  of  one  mind,  its 
wonderful  what  they  can  do.  I had  a very  god 
mouth — that  is,  I could  be  guided  by  te 
slightest  touch  of  the  rein. 

That  is  a great  thing  in  London,  amog 
carriages,  omnibuses,  carts,  vans,  trucks,  cat, 
and  great  wagons  creeping  along  at  a wax- 
ing pace;  some  going  one  way,  some  a- 
other,  some  going  slowly,  others  wanting  o 
pass  them;  omnibuses  stopping  short  every  Lv 
minutes  to  take  up  a passenger,  obliging  te 
horse  that  is  coming  to  pull  up  too,  or  to  pas, 
and  get  before  them.  Perhaps  you  try  to  pa?, 
but  just  then  something  else  comes  dashing  n 
through  the  narrow  opening,  and  you  have  o 
keep  in  behind  the  omnibus  again.  Preseny 


JERRY  BARKER 


201 


yp  think  you  see  a chance  and  manage  to  get 
tcthe  front,  getting  so  near  the  wheels  on  each 
site  that  half  an  inch  nearer  and  they  would 
scape.  Well — you  get  along  for  a bit,  but  soon 
fid  yourself  in  a long  train  of  carts  and  car- 
riges  all  obliged  to  go  at  a walk.  Perhaps  you 
cone  to  a regular  block  up,  and  have  to  stand 
sill  for  minutes  together,  till  something  clears 
ot  into  a side  street  or  the  policeman  interferes. 
Y»u  have  to  be  ready  for  any  chance — to  dash 
forward  if  there  be  an  opening,  and  be  quick  as 
a rat  dog  to  see  if  there  be  room  and  if  there 
fo  time,  lest  you  get  your  own  wheels  locked  or 
stashed,  or  the  shaft  of  some  other  vehicle  run 
irfto  your  chest  or  shoulder.  All  this  is  what  you 
hve  to  be  ready  for.  If  you  want  to  get  through 
Lndon  fast  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  it  needs  a 
dal  of  practice. 

J Jerry  and  I were  used  to  it,  and  no  one  could 
but  us  at  getting  through  when  we  were  set 
Ujon  it.  I was  quick  and  bold  and  could  trust 
rrr  driver;  Jerry  was  quick  and  patient  at  the 
sghe  time,  and  could  trust  his  horse,  which  was 
a threat  thing,  too.  He  seldom  used  the  whip;  I 
k]ew  by  his  voice,  and  his  click,  click,  when  he 
wnted  to  get  on  fast,  and  by  the  rein  where  I 
ws  to  go;  so  there  was  no  need  for  whipping. 
Bt  I must  go  back  to  my  story. 


202 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


The  streets  were  very  full  that  day,  but  v, 
got  on  pretty  well  as  far  as  the  bottom  of  Chea- 
side,  where  there  was  a block  for  three  or  fo: 
minutes.  The  young  man  put  his  head  out  ail 
said,  “I  think  I had  better  get  out  and  walk;! 
shall  never  get  there  if  this  goes  on.” 

‘Til  do  all  that  can  be  done,  sir,”  said  Jerr. 
“I  think  we  shall  be  in  time;  this  block  up  cann; 
last  much  longer,  and  your  luggage  is  ve/ 
heavy  for  you  to  carry,  sir.” 

Just  then  the  cart  in  front  of  us  began  ) 
move  on,  and  then  we  had  a good  turn.  In  ail 
out — in  and  out  we  went,  as  fast  as  horseflei 
could  do  it,  and  for  a wonder  had  a good  clef 
time  on  London  Bridge,  for  there  was  a who 
train  of  cabs  and  carriages,  all  going  our  w ;/ 
at  a quick  trot — perhaps  wanting  to  catch  tht 
very  train.  At  any  rate,  we  whirled  into  fcj 
station,  with  many  more,  just  as  the  great  doe 
pointed  to  eight  minutes  to  twelve  o’clock. 

“Thank  God!  we  are  in  time,”  said  tjj 
young  man,  “and  thank  you,  too,  my  friend,  ail 
your  good  horse.  You  have  saved  me  more  tha 
money  can  ever  pay  for;  take  this  extra  hsf 
crown.” 

“No,  sir,  no,  thank  you  all  the  same.  I ai 
glad  we  hit  the  time,  sir;  but  don’t  stay  now,  s , 
the  bell  is  ringing.  Here,  porter!  take  this  ge* 


JERRY  BARKER 


203 


tlsman’s  luggage — Dover  line — twelve  o’clock 
tain — that’s  it,”  and  without  waiting  for  an- 
ofier  word,  Jerry  wheeled  me  round  to  make 
rom  for  other  cabs  that  were  dashing  up  at  the 
lit  minute,  and  drew  up  on  one  side  till  the 
cjush  was  passed. 

“So  glad!”  he  said,  “so  glad!  poor  young 
Mow!  I wonder  what  it  was  that  made  him  so 
axious?” 

Jerry  often  talked  to  himself  quite  loud 
enough  for  me  to  hear,  when  we  were  not 
living. 

On  Jerry’s  return  to  the  rank,  there  was  a 
god  deal  of  laughing  and  chaffing  at  him  for 
diving  hard  to  the  train  for  an  extra  fare,  as 
ttey  said,  all  against  his  principles,  and  they 
vinted  to  know  how  much  he  had  pocketed. 

“A  good  deal  more  than  I generally  get,” 
sad  he,  nodding  slyly,  “what  he  gave  me  will 
kep  me  in  little  comforts  for  several  days.” 

“Gammon!”  said  one. 

; “He’s  a humbug,”  said  another,  “preaching 
t|us,  and  then  doing  the  same  himself.” 

“Look  here,  mates,”  said  Jerry,  “the  gentle- 
dm  offered  me  half  a crown  extra,  but  I didn’t 
tKe  it.  ’Twas  pay  enough  for  me  to  see  how 
gid  he  was  to  catch  that  train;  and  if  Jack  and 
I hoose  to  have  a quick  run  now  and  then,  to 


204  BLACK  BEAUTY 

please  ourselves,  that’s  our  business,  not  yours' 
“Well,”  said  Larry,  “you’ll  never  be  a ri< 
man.” 

“Most  likely  not,”  said  Jerry,  “but  I dor; 
know  that  I shall  be  the  less  happy  for  that.  [ 
have  heard  the  Commandments  read  a gre; 
many  times,  and  I never  noticed  that  any  ; 
them  said  ‘Thou  shalt  be  rich’;  and  there  arei 
good  many  curious  things  said  in  the  New  Test- 
ment  about  rich  men,  that  I think  would  ma'j 
me  feel  rather  queer  if  I was  one  of  them.” 
“If  you  ever  do  get  rich,”  said  Govern: 
Gray,  looking  over  his  shoulder  across  the  top  f 
his  cab,  “you’ll  deserve  it,  Jerry,  and  you  wort 
find  a curse  come  with  your  wealth.  As  for  yc, 
Larry,  you’ll  die  poor;  you  spend  too  much  1 
whipcord.” 

“Well,”  said  Larry,  “what  is  a fellow  to  d 
if  his  horse  won’t  go  without  it?” 

“You  never  take  the  trouble  to  see  if  e 
will  go  without  it;  your  whip  is  always  going  s 
if  you  had  the  St.  Vitus’s  dance  in  your  arm;  a:i 
if  it  does  not  wear  you  out  it  wears  your  hoie 
out.  You  know  you  are  always  changing  yor 
horses,  and  why?  because  you  never  give  th<n 
any  peace  or  encouragement.” 

“Well,  I have  not  had  good  luck,”  sjd 
Larry,  “that’s  what  it  is.” 


JERRY  BARKER 


205 


“And  you  never  will,”  said  the  Governor. 
['Good  Luck  is  rather  particular  with  whom  she 
ides,  and  prefers  those  who  have  common  sense 
:nd  a good  heart;  at  least,  that  is  my  experi- 
ence.” Governor  Gray  turned  round  again  to 
ds  newspaper,  and  the  other  men  went  to 
heir  cabs. 


Chapter  XXXVI 


THE  SUNDAY  CAB 

ONE  morning  as  Jerry  had  just  put  me  ini 
the  shafts  and  was  fastening  the  traces 
gentleman  walked  into  the  yard.  “Yoi 
servant,  sir,”  said  Jerry. 

“Good  morning,  Barker,”  said  the  gentl< 
man.  “I  should  be  glad  to  make  some  a: 
rangements  with  you  for  taking  Mrs.  Brigg 
regularly  to  church  on  Sunday  mornings.  V 
go  to  the  New  Church  now,  and  that  is  rathe 
farther  than  she  can  walk.” 

“Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Jerry,  “but  I ha\ 
only  taken  out  a six-days’  license,  and  therefoi 
I could  not  take  a fare  on  a Sunday;  it  woul 
not  be  legal.” 

“Oh,”  said  the  other,  “I  did  not  know  youi 
was  a six-days’  cab;  but  of  course  it  would  fc 
very  easy  to  alter  your  license.  I would  see  the 
you  did  not  lose  by  it.  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Brigg 
very  much  prefers  you  to  drive  her.” 

“I  should  be  glad  to  oblige  the  lady,  sir,  bi 
I had  a seven-days’  license  once,  and  the  wor 
was  too  hard  for  me,  and  too  hard  for  my  horse: 
Year  in  and  year  out,  not  a day’s  rest,  an 

206 


THE  SUNDAY  CAB 


207 


isver  a Sunday  with  my  wife  and  children;  and 
raver  able  to  go  to  a place  of  worship,  which  I 
hd  always  been  used  to  do  before  I took  the 
civing  box.  So  for  the  last  five  years  I have 
cily  taken  a six-days'  license;  I find  it  better  all 
tie  way  round.” 

“Well,”  replied  Mr.  Briggs,  “it  is  proper 
tiat  every  person  should  have  rest,  and  be  able 
t go  to  church  on  Sundays,  but  I should  have 
bought  that  you  would  not  have  minded  such  a 
siort  distance  for  the  horse,  and  only  once  a day. 
Tou  would  have  all  the  afternoon  and  evening 
fr  yourself;  and  we  are  good  customers,  you 
how.” 

“Yes,  sir,  that  is  true,  and  I am  grateful  for 
el  favors,  I am  sure,  and  anything  that  I could 
c)  to  oblige  you  or  the  lady  I should  be  proud 
eid  happy  to  do ; but  I can’t  give  up  my  Sundays, 
sr,  indeed  I can’t.  I read  that  God  made  man, 
aid  He  made  horses,  and  all  the  other  beasts,  and 
e.  soon  as  He  made  them  He  made  a day  of  rest, 
aid  bade  that  all  should  rest  one  day  in  seven. 

. Ihink,  sir,  He  must  have  known  what  was  good 
f r them,  and  I am  sure  it  is  good  for  me.  I am 
sronger  and  healthier  altogether,  now  that  I 
hive  a day  of  rest;  the  horses  are  fresh,  too, 
aid  do  not  wear  out  nearly  so  fast.  The  six-day 
divers  all  tell  me  the  same,  and  I have  laid  by 


208 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


more  money  in  the  Savings  Bank  than  ever  I di 
before.  As  for  the  wife  and  children,  sir,  wh; 
heart  alive!  they  would  not  go  back  to  the  seve 
days  for  all  they  could  see.” 

“Oh,  very  well,”  said  the  gentleman.  “Don 
trouble  yourself,  Barker,  any  further.  I wi 
inquire  somewhere  else,”  and  he  walked  awa: 
“Well,”  says  Jerry  to  me,  “we  can’t  help  i 
Jack,  old  boy;  we  must  have  our  Sundays.” 
“Polly!”  he  shouted,  “Polly!  come  here.” 
She  was  there  in  a minute.  “What  is  it  a 
about,  Jerry?” 

“Why,  my  dear,  Mr.  Briggs  wants  me  t 
take  Mrs.  Briggs  to  church  every  Sunday  morr 
ing.  I say,  I have  only  a six-days’  license.  H 
says,  'Get  a seven-days’  license,  and  I’ll  make : 
worth  your  while’ ; and  you  know,  Polly,  they  ar 
very  good  customers  to  us.  Mrs.  Briggs  ofte 
goes  out  shopping  for  hours,  or  making  calls 
and  then  she  pays  down  fair  and  honorable  lik 
a lady;  there’s  no  beating  down,  or  making  thre 
hours  into  two  hours  and  a half,  as  some  folk 
do.  It  is  easy  work  for  the  horses;  not  lik 
tearing  along  to  catch  trains  for  people  that  ar 
always  a quarter  of  an  hour  too  late.  If  I don 
oblige  her  in  this  matter  it  is  very  likely  we  sha 
lose  them  altogether.  What  do  you  say,  littl 
woman?” 


THE  SUNDAY  CAB 


209 


“I  say,  Jerry,”  says  she,  speaking  very 
sowly,  “I  say,  if  Mrs.  Briggs  would  give  you  a 
swereign  every  Sunday  morning  I would  not 
lave  you  a seven-days’  cabman  again.  We  have 
Inown  what  it  was  to  have  no  Sundays,  and  now 
ie  know  what  it  is  to  call  them  our  own.  Thank 
(iod,  you  earn  enough  to  keep  us,  though  it  is 
$metimes  close  work  to  pay  for  all  the  oats  and 
lay,  the  license,  and  the  rent  besides.  But  Harry 
vill  soon  be  earning  something,  and  I would 
ather  struggle  on  harder  than  we  do  than  go 
lack  to  those  horrid  times  when  you  hardly  had 
s|  minute  to  look  at  your  own  children,  and  we 
isver  could  go  to  a place  of  worship  together,  or 
lave  a quiet,  happy  day.  God  forbid  that  we 
nould  ever  turn  back  to  those  times;  that’s  what 
'.say,  Jerry.” 

“And  that  is  what  I told  Mr.  Briggs,”  said 
.srry,  “and  what  I mean  to  stick  to;  so  don’t  go 
;nd  fret  yourself,  Polly  (for  she  had  begun  to 
<:y) . I would  not  go  back  to  the  old  times  if  I 
arned  twice  as  much;  so  that  is  settled,  little 
’ Oman;  cheer  up.  Now,  I’ll  be  off  to  the  stand.” 

Three  weeks  had  passed  away  after  this 
onversation,  and  no  order  had  come  from  Mrs. 
Briggs,  so  there  was  nothing  but  taking  jobs 
rom  the  stand.  Jerry  took  it  to  heart  a good 
eal,  for,  of  course,  the  work  was  harder  for 


210 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


horse  and  man;  but  Polly  would  always  chee 
him  up  and  say,  “Never  mind,  Father,  neve 
mind. 

“Do  your  best, 

And  leave  the  rest; 

’Twill  all  come  right 
Some  day  or  night.” 

It  soon  became  known  that  Jerry  had  los 
his  best  customer,  and  for  what  reason.  Most  c 
the  men  said  he  was  a fool,  but  two  or  three  too 
his  part. 

“If  workingmen  don’t  stick  to  their  Sur 
day,”  said  Truman,  “they’ll  soon  have  none  lef 
It  is  every  man’s  right  and  every  beast’s  righ 
By  God’s  law  we  have  a day  of  rest,  and  by  th 
law  of  England  we  have  a day  of  rest;  and  I sa 
we  ought  to  hold  to  the  rights  these  laws  give  u: 
and  keep  them  for  our  children.” 

“All  very  well  for  you  religious  chaps  to  tal 
so,”  said  Larry,  “but  I’ll  turn  a shilling  when 
can.  I don’t  believe  in  religion,  for  I don’t  se 
that  your  religious  people  are  any  better  tha 
the  rest.” 

“If  they  are  not  better,”  put  in  Jerry,  “it 
because  they  are  not  religious.  You  might  & 
well  say  that  our  country’s  laws  are  not  goc. 
because  some  people  break  them.  If  a ma 
gives  way  to  his  temper,  and  speaks  evil  of  hi 


THE  SUNDAY  CAB  211 

. 

raighbor,  and  does  not  pay  his  debts,  he  is  not 
rligious,  I don’t  care  how  much  he  goes  to 
durch.  If  some  men  are  shams  and  humbugs, 
t at  does  not  make  religion  untrue.  Real  re- 
Mon  is  the  best  and  the  truest  thing  in  the 
vorld,  and  the  only  thing  that  can  make  a man 
r ally  happy,  or  make  the  world  any  better.” 

“If  religion  was  good  for  anything,”  said 
J>nes,  “it  would  prevent  your  religious  people 
fom  making  us  work  on  Sundays,  as  you  know 
rany  of  them  do,  and  that’s  why  I say  religion 
i nothing  but  a sham.  Why,  if  it  was  not  for 
tie  church  and  chapelgoers  it  would  be  hardly 
vprth  while  our  coming  out  on  a Sunday;  but 
t ey  have  their  privileges,  as  they  call  them,  and 
ibo  without.  I shall  expect  them  to  answer  for 
i ry  soul,  if  I can’t  get  a chance  of  saving  it.” 
Several  of  the  men  applauded  this,  till  Jerry 
sid: 

“That  may  sound  well  enough,  but  it  won’t 
;(k  Every  man  must  look  after  his  own  soul; 
ifu  can’t  lay  it  down  at  another  man’s  door  like 
a foundling,  and  expect  him  to  take  care  of  it. 
Aid,  don’t  you  see,  if  you  are  always  sitting  on 
•y  ur  box  waiting  for  a fare,  they  will  say,  Tf  we 
dn’t  take  him  someone  else  will,  and  he  does 
nt  look  for  any  Sunday.’  Of  course  they  don’t 
g to  the  bottom  of  it,  or  they  would  see  if  they 

| 


212 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


never  came  for  a cab  it  would  be  no  use  you 
standing  there.  But  people  don’t  always  like  t 
go  to  the  bottom  of  things;  it  may  not  be  cor 
venient  to  do  it.  If  you  Sunday  drivers  woul 
all  strike  for  a day  of  rest,  the  thing  woul 
be  done.” 

“And  what  would  all  the  good  people  do  i 
they  could  not  get  to  their  favorite  preachers? 
said  Larry. 

“ ’Tis  not  for  me  to  lay  down  plans  for  othe 
people,”  said  Jerry,  “but  if  they  can’t  walk  s 
far,  they  can  go  to  what  is  nearer;  and  if  : 
should  rain  they  can  put  on  their  mackintoshe: 
as  they  do  on  a week  day.  If  a thing  is  righ 
it  can  be  done,  and  if  it  is  wrong,  it  can  b 
done  without.  A good  man  will  find  a way;  an 
that  is  as  true  for  us  cabmen  as  it  is  for  th 
churchgoers.” 


Chapter  XXXVII 
THE  GOLDEN  RULE 

rpWO  or  three  weeks  after  this,  as  we  came 
1 into  the  yard  rather  late  in  the  evening, 
Polly  came  running  across  the  road  with  the 
latern  (she  always  brought  it  to  him  if  it  was 
n’t  very  wet) . 

“It  has  all  come  right,  Jerry;  Mrs.  Briggs 
sat  her  servant  this  afternoon  to  ask  if  you 
w»uld  take  her  out  tomorrow  at  eleven  o'clock. 
Laid,  'Yes,  I thought  so,  but  we  supposed  she 
employed  someone  else  now.'  ” 

“ 'Well,'  he  said,  'master  was  put  out 
b cause  Barker  refused  to  come  on  Sundays,  and 
h has  been  trying  other  cabs,  but  there’s  some- 
ting  wrong  with  them  all;  some  drive  too  fast, 
a:d  some  too  slow.  The  mistress  says  there  is 
nit  one  of  them  so  nice  and  clean  as  yours,  and 
n*  thing  will  suit  her  but  Barker’s  cab  again.’  ” 
Polly  was  almost  out  of  breath,  and  Jerry 
bi)ke  out  into  a merry  laugh. 

“ ’Twill  all  come  right 
Some  day  or  night. 

f’u  were  right,  my  dear;  you  generally  are. 
Eln  in  and  get  the  supper,  and  I’ll  have  Jack’s 


214  BLACK  BEAUTY 

harness  off  and  make  him  snug  and  happy  i 
no  time.” 

After  this,  Mrs.  Briggs  wanted  Jerry’s  ca 
quite  as  often  as  before,  never,  however,  on< 
Sunday.  But  there  came  a day  when  he  hd 
Sunday  work,  and  this  was  how  it  happened.  V) 
had  all  come  home  on  the  Saturday  night  ve:? 
tired,  and  very  glad  to  think  that  the  next  dr 
would  be  all  rest,  but  it  was  not  to  be. 

On  Sunday  morning  Jerry  was  cleaning 
in  the  yard,  when  Polly  stepped  up  to  him,  loo- 
ing  very  full  of  something. 

“What  is  it?”  said  Jerry. 

“Well,  my  dear,”  she  said,  “poor  Dina 
Brown  has  just  had  a letter  brought  to  say  th: 
her  mother  is  dangerously  ill,  and  that  she  mu: 
go  directly  if  she  wishes  to  see  her  alive.  Th 
place  is  more  than  ten  miles  away  from  here,  o: 
in  the  country,  and  she  says  if  she  takes  the  trai 
she  should  still  have  four  miles  to  walk.  Wea 
as  she  is,  and  the  baby  only  four  weeks  old,  f 
course  that  would  be  impossible.  She  wants  ) 
know  if  you  would  take  her  in  your  cab,  and  s| 
promises  to  pay  you  faithfully,  as  soon  as  sh 
can  get  the  money.” 

“Tut,  tut!  we’ll  see  about  that.  It  was  nt 
the  money  I was  thinking  about,  but  of  losing  or 
Sunday.  The  horses  are  tired,  and  I am  tire, 
too — that’s  where  it  pinches.” 


THE  GOLDEN  RULE  215 


«1 


It  pinches  all  round,  for  that  matter,”  said 
Lily,  “for  it's  only  half  Sunday  without  you,  but 
yu  know  we  should  do  to  other  people  as  we 
should  like  they  should  do  to  us.  I know  very 
will  what  I should  like  if  my  mother  was  dying; 
a d,  Jerry,  I am  sure  it  won’t  break  the  Sabbath; 
ft  if  pulling  a poor  beast  out  of  a pit  would  not 
spil  it,  I am  quite  sure  taking  poor  Dinah  would 
nt  do  it.” 

' j “Why,  Polly,  you  are  as  good  as  the  minister, 
a;d  so,  as  I’ve  had  my  Sunday-morning  sermon 
9dy  today,  you  may  go  and  tell  Dinah  that  I’ll 
)b«  ready  for  her  as  the  clock  strikes  ten.  But 
s|p — just  step  round  to  butcher  Braydon’s  with 
Mt  compliments,  and  ask  him  if  he  would  lend 

i.  

ds  his  light  trap.  I know  he  never  uses  it  on 
;h  Sunday,  and  it  would  make  a wonderful 
Inference  to  the  horse.” 

Away  she  went,  and  soon  returned,  saying 
|it  he  could  have  the  trap  and  welcome. 

All  right,”  said  he,  “now  put  me  up  a bit 
1, bread  and  cheese,  and  I’ll  be  back  in  the 
aternoon  as  soon  as  I can.” 

“And  I’ll  have  the  meat  pie  ready  for  an 
3Sjly  tea  instead  of  for  dinner,”  said  Polly;  and 
i\ay  she  went,  while  he  made  his  preparations 
othe  tune  of  “Polly’s  the  woman  and  no 
n;take,”  of  which  tune  he  was  very  fond. 


216 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


I was  selected  for  the  journey,  and  at  hi 
o’clock  we  started  in  a light,  high-wheeled  gi, 
which  ran  so  easily  that  after  the  four-wheel  l 
cab  it  seemed  like  nothing. 

It  was  a fine  May  day,  and  as  soon  as  v 
were  out  of  the  town,  the  sweet  air,  the  smell  f 
the  fresh  grass  and  the  soft  country  roads  we? 
as  pleasant  as  they  used  to  be  in  the  old  timq 
and  I soon  began  to  feel  quite  fresh. 

Dinah’s  family  lived  in  a small  farmhous, 
up  a green  lane,  close  by  a meadow  with  son 
fine  shady  trees;  there  were  two  cows  feeding  1 
it,  A young  man  asked  Jerry  to  bring  his  tro 
into  the  meadow,  and  he  would  tie  me  up  in  ii 
cowshed;  he  wished  he  had  a better  stable  3 
offer. 

“If  your  cows  would  not  be  offended,”  sal 
Jerry,  ‘There  is  nothing  my  horse  would  like  3 
well  as  to  have  an  hour  or  two  in  your  beautiil 
meadow;  he’s  quiet,  and  it  would  be  a rare  tret 
for  him.” 

“Do,  and  welcome,”  said  the  young  ma; 
“the  best  we  have  is  at  your  service  for  yor 
kindness  to  my  sister.  We  shall  be  having  soie 
dinner  in  an  hour,  and  I hope  you’ll  come  :i, 
though  with  mother  so  ill  we  are  all  out  of  sois 
in  the  house.” 

Jerry  thanked  him  kindly,  but  as  he  hi 


218 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


some  dinner  with  him,  there  was  nothing  1 
should  like  so  well  as  walking  about  in  tt 

meadow. 

When  my  harness  was  taken  off  I did  n( 
know  what  I should  do  first — whether  to  eat  tl 
grass,  or  roll  over  on  my  back,  or  lie  down  an 
rest,  or  have  a gallop  across  the  meadow  out  ( 
sheer  spirits  at  being  free;  and  I did  all  by  turn 
Jerry  seemed  to  be  quite  as  happy  as  I was.  E 
sat  down  by  a bank  under  a shady  tree,  an 
listened  to  the  birds,  then  he  sang  to  himself,  an 
read  out  of  the  little  brown  book  he  is  so  fon 
of,  then  wandered  around  the  meadow  and  dow 
by  a little  brook,  where  he  picked  the  flowers  an 
the  hawthorn,  and  tied  them  up  with  long  spraj 
of  ivy.  Then  he  gave  me  a good  feed  of  the  oai 
which  he  had  brought  with  him.  But  the  tin: 
seemed  all  too  short — I had  not  been  in  a fiel 
since  I left  poor  Ginger  at  Earlshall. 

We  came  home  gently,  and  Jerry’s  fin 
words  were,  as  we  came  into  the  yard,  “Wei 
Polly,  I have  not  lost  my  Sunday  after  all,  fc 
the  birds  were  singing  hymns  in  every  bush,  an 
I joined  in  the  service;  and  as  for  Jack,  he  Wc 
like  a young  colt.” 

When  he  handed  Dolly  the  flowers,  sf 
jumped  about  for  joy. 


Chapter  XXXVIII 

DOLLY  AND  A REAL  GENTLEMAN 

THE  winter  came  in  early,  with  a great  deal 
of  cold  and  wet.  There  was  snow,  or  sleet, 
or  rain,  almost  every  day  for  weeks,  chang- 
i]g  only  for  keen  driving  winds  or  sharp  frosts. 
Tie  horses  all  felt  it  very  much.  When  it  is  a 
dy  cold,  a couple  of  good,  thick  rugs  will  keep 
te  warmth  in  us;  but  when  it  is  soaking  rain, 
t ey  soon  get  wet  through  and  are  no  good. 

Some  of  the  drivers  had  a waterproof  cover 
f throw  over,  which  was  a fine  thing;  but 
sme  of  the  men  were  so  poor  that  they  could 
nt  protect  either  themselves  or  their  horses, 
a d many  of  them  suffered  very  much  that  win- 
fir.  When  we  horses  had  worked  half  the  day 
:v‘  went  to  our  dry  stables  and  could  rest;  while 
tfey  had  to  sit  on  their  boxes,  sometimes  staying 
o t as  late  as  one  or  two  o’clock  in  the  morning, 
iithey  had  a party  to  wait  for. 

When  the  streets  were  slippery  with  frost 
o:  snow,  that  was  the  worst  of  all  for  us  horses. 
0\e  mile  of  such  traveling  with  a weight  to 
daw,  and  no  firm  footing,  would  take  more  out 
o:us  than  four  on  a good  road.  Every  nerve  and 


220 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


muscle  of  our  bodies  is  on  the  strain  to  keep  01 
balance;  and  the  fear  of  falling  is  more  exhaus 
ing  than  anything  else.  If  the  roads  are  vei 
bad  indeed,  our  shoes  are  roughed;  but  th:; 
makes  us  feel  nervous  at  first. 

When  the  weather  was  very  bad,  many  <: 
the  men  would  go  and  sit  in  the  tavern  close  b 
and  get  someone  to  watch  for  them;  but  the 
often  lost  a fare  in  that  way,  and  could  not, ;; 
Jerry  said,  be  there  without  spending  mone 
He  never  went  to  the  Rising  Sun.  There  was , 
coffee  shop  near,  where  he  now  and  then  wen, 
or  he  bought  of  an  old  man,  who  came  to  or 
rank  with  tins  of  hot  coffee  and  pies. 

It  was  Jerry’s  opinion  that  spirits  and  bee 
made  a man  colder  afterwards,  and  that  dr 
clothes,  good  food,  cheerfulness,  and  a comfor- 
able  wife  at  home,  were  the  best  things  to  kee 
a cabman  warm.  Polly  always  supplied  hil 
with  something  to  eat  when  he  could  not  g: 
home,  and  sometimes  he  would  see  little  Dob 
peeping  from  the  corner  of  the  street,  to  mal; 
sure  if  “father”  was  on  the  stand.  If  she  sa' 
him,  she  would  run  off  at  full  speed  and  soci 
come  back  with  something  in  a tin  or  baske 
some  hot  soup  or  pudding  that  Polly  had  read. 

It  was  wonderful  how  such  a little  thin 
could  get  safely  across  the  street,  often  throngfi 


DOLLY 


221 


vith  horses  and  carriages;  but  she  was  a brave 
l;;tle  maid,  and  felt  it  quite  an  honor  to  bring 
other's  first  course,  as  he  used  to  call  it.  She 
vas  a general  favorite  on  the  stand,  and  there 
vis  not  a man  who  would  not  have  seen  her 
sfely  across  the  street  if  Jerry  had  not  been 
a»le  to  do  it. 

One  cold,  windy  day,  Dolly  had  brought 
Jrry  a basin  of  something  hot,  and  was  stand- 
iig  by  him  while  he  ate  it.  He  had  scarcely 
bgun,  when  a gentleman,  walking  toward  us 
vry  fast,  held  up  his  umbrella.  Jerry  touched 
hs  hat  in  return,  gave  the  basin  to  Dolly,  and 
vis  taking  off  my  cloth,  when  the  gentleman, 
hastening  up,  cried  out: 

“No,  no,  finish  your  soup,  my  friend.  I have 
lit  much  time  to  spare,  but  I can  wait  till  you 
hve  done,  and  set  your  little  girl  safe  on  the 
pvement."  So  saying,  he  seated  himself  in  the 
cb.  Jerry  thanked  him  kindly  and  came  back 
t<  Dolly. 

j “There,  Dolly,  that's  a gentleman;  that’s  a 
rial  gentleman,  Dolly;  he  has  got  time  and 
ti  ought  for  the  comfort  of  a poor  cabman  and 
a little  girl."  Jerry  finished  his  soup,  set  the 
c ild  across,  and  then  took  his  orders  to  drive  to 
Capham  Rise. 

Several  times  after  that  the  same  gentleman 


222 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


took  our  cab.  I think  he  was  very  fond  of  doji 
and  horses,  for  whenever  we  took  him  to  his  ovi 
door,  two  or  three  dogs  would  come  boundir; 
out  to  meet  him.  Sometimes  he  came  round  ail 
patted  me,  saying  in  his  quiet  way,  “This  hor  3 
has  got  a good  master,  and  he  deserves  it.” 

It  was  a very  rare  thing  for  anyone  j 
notice  the  horse  that  had  been  working  for  hii 
I have  known  ladies  do  it  now  and  then,  and  th 
gentleman  and  one  or  two  others  have  given  n 3 
a pat  and  a kind  word;  but  ninety-nine  out  ofi 
hundred  would  as  soon  think  of  patting  th 
steam  engine  that  drew  the  train. 

This  gentleman  was  not  young,  and  the:; 
was  a forward  stoop  in  his  shoulders  as  if  he  w;; 
always  going  at  something.  His  lips  were  tin 
and  close  shut,  though  they  had  a very  pleasai 
smile;  his  eye  was  keen,  and  there  was  som- 
thing  in  his  jaw,  and  the  motion  of  his  head,  th;; 
made  one  think  he  was  very  determined  in  am 
thing  he  set  about.  His  voice  was  pleasant  ar. 
kind;  any  horse  would  trust  that  voice,  though : 
was  just  as  decided  as  everything  else  about  hir. 
One  day  he  and  another  gentleman  toe: 

our  cab.  They  stopped  at  a shop  in  R Stree. 

and  while  his  friend  went  in,  he  stood  at  th 
door.  A little  ahead  of  us,  on  the  other  side  (! 
the  street,  a cart  with  two  very  fine  horses  ws 


DOLLY 


223 


sanding  before  some  wine  vaultSo  The  carter 
\as  not  with  them,  and  I cannot  tell  how  long 
hey  had  been  standing  before  they  seemed  to 
tank  they  had  waited  long  enough  and  began 
t move  off.  Before  they  had  gone  many  paces, 
tie  carter  came  running  out  and  caught  them, 
le  seemed  furious  at  their  having  moved,  and 
vith  whip  and  rein  punished  them  brutally,  even 
bating  them  about  the  head.  Our  gentleman 
aw  it  all,  and  stepping  quickly  across  the  street, 
aid,  in  a decided  voice : 

“If  you  don’t  stop  that  directly  I’ll  have  you 
rrested  for  leaving  your  horses,  and  for  brutal 

onduct.” 

: 

The  man,  who  had  clearly  been  drinking, 
pured  forth  some  abusive  language,  but  he 
1 ft  off  knocking  the  horses  about,  and  taking 
te  reins  got  into  his  cart.  Meantime  our 
fiend  had  quietly  taken  a notebook  from  his 
pcket,  and  looking  at  the  name  and  address 
pinted  on  the  cart,  he  wrote  something  down. 

“What  do  you  want  with  that?”  growled 
te  carter,  as  he  cracked  his  whip  and  was 
foving  on.  A nod  and  a grim  smile  was  the 
oily  answer  he  got. 

On  returning  to  the  cab,  our  friend  was 
j ined  by  his  companion,  who  said,  laughingly, 
“ should  have  thought,  Wright,  you  had  enough 


i 


224 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


business  of  your  own  to  look  after,  withoi 
troubling  yourself  about  other  people’s  hors< 
and  servants.” 

Our  friend  stood  still  for  a moment,  ar 
said,  “Do  you  know  why  this  world  is  as  bad  i 
it  is?” 

“No,”  said  the  other. 

“Then  I’ll  tell  you.  It  is  because  peop' 
think  only  about  their  own  business,  and  won 
trouble  themselves  to  stand  up  for  the  oppressei 
nor  bring  the  wrongdoer  to  light.  I never  st 
a wicked  thing  like  this  without  doing  what 
can,  and  many  a master  has  thanked  me  for  le 
ting  him  know  how  his  horses  have  been  used. 

“I  wish  there  were  more  gentlemen  lit 
you,  sir,”  said  Jerry,  “for  they  are  wanted  badl 
enough  in  this  city.” 

After  this  we  continued  our  journey,  and  a 
they  got  out  of  the  cab  our  friend  was  sayini 
“My  doctrine  is  this,  that  if  we  see  cruelty  c 
wrong  that  we  have  the  power  to  stop,  and  d 
nothing,  we  make  ourselves  sharers  in  the  guilt. 


Chapter  XXXIX 
SEEDY  SAM 


1 SHOULD  say  that  for  a cab  horse  I was  very 
well  off  indeed.  My  driver  was  my  owner, 
and  it  was  his  interest  to  treat  me  well, 
aid  not  overwork  me,  even  if  he  had  not  been  so 
giod  a man  as  he  was.  But  there  were  a great 
nany  horses  which  belonged  to  the  large  cab 
o'/ners,  who  let  them  out  to  their  drivers  for  so 
mch  money  a day.  As  the  horses  did  not 
blong  to  these  men,  the  only  thing  they  thought 
o was  how  to  get  their  money  out  of  them,  first, 
t<  pay  their  master,  and  then  to  provide  for  their 
o\m  living,  and  a dreadful  time  some  of  these 
hrses  had  of  it.  Of  course  I understood  but 
li  tie,  but  it  was  often  talked  over  on  the  stand, 
a d the  Governor,  who  was  a kind-hearted  man, 
ad  fond  of  horses,  would  sometimes  speak  up 
hone  came  in  very  much  jaded  or  ill-used. 

One  day  a shabby,  miserable-looking  driver, 
wio  went  by  the  name  of  “Seedy  Sam/’  brought 
ii  his  horse  looking  dreadfully  beat,  and  the 
Governor  said,  “You  and  your  horse  look  more 
fi  for  the  police  station  than  for  this  rank.” 
The  man  flung  his  tattered  rug  over  the 

225 


226 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


horse,  turned  full  round  upon  the  Governor,  a j 
said  in  a voice  that  sounded  almost  desperate: 

“If  the  police  have  any  business  with  te 
matter,  it  ought  to  be  with  the  masters  wo 
charge  us  so  much,  or  with  the  fares  that  a a 
fixed  so  low.  If  a man  has  to  pay  eighteen  sh  * 
lings  a day  for  the  use  of  a cab  and  two  hors<;, 
as  many  of  us  have  to  do  in  the  season,  and  mit 
make  up  that  before  we  earn  a penny  for  ot- 
selves — I say  ’tis  more  than  hard  work.  Ni:a 
shillings  a day  to  get  out  of  each  horse,  befoa 
you  begin  to  get  your  own  living.  You  knc/ 
that’s  true,  and  if  the  horses  don’t  work  we  mrt 
starve.  My  children  and  I have  known  wht 
that  is  before  now.  I’ve  six  of  ’em,  and  on/ 
one  earns  anything. 

“I  am  on  the  stand  fourteen  or  sixtea 
hours  a day,  and  I haven’t  had  a Sunday  the3 
ten  or  twelve  weeks.  You  know  Skinner  nevr 
gives  a day  if  he  can  help  it;  and  if  I don’t  wo:c 
hard,  tell  me  who  does?  I want  a warm  cot 
and  a mackintosh,  but  with  so  many  to  feed  ha 
can  a man  get  it?  I had  to  pledge  my  clocki 
week  ago  to  pay  Skinner,  and  I shall  never  S3 
it  again.” 

Some  of  the  other  drivers  stood  round  no- 
ding  their  heads,  and  saying  he  was  right.  Tj3 
man  went  on : 


SEEDY  SAM 


227 


“You  that  have  your  own  horses  and  cabs, 
c drive  for  good  masters,  have  a chance  of  get- 
tig  on  and  a chance  of  doing  right;  I haven’t. 
Ye  can’t  charge  more  than  sixpence  a mile  after 
t e first,  within  the  four-mile  radius.  This  very 
norning  I had  to  go  a clear  six  miles  and  only 
tpk  three  shillings.  I could  not  get  a return 
f re,  and  had  to  come  all  the  way  back;  there’s 
twelve  miles  for  the  horse  and  three  shillings 
f|r  me. 

“After  that  I had  a three-mile  fare,  and 
tlere  were  bags  and  boxes  enough  to  have 
bought  in  a good  many  twopences  if  they  had 
ben  put  outside.  But  you  know  how  people  do ; 
a that  could  be  piled  up  inside  on  the  front  seat 
Wire  put  in,  and  three  heavy  boxes  went  on  the 
to;  that  was  sixpence;  and  the  fare  one  and 
siipence;  then  I got  a return  for  a shilling. 
N)w  that  makes  eighteen  miles  for  the  horse  and 
sj:  shillings  for  me;  there’s  three  shillings  still 
ft  that  horse  to  earn,  and  nine  shillings  for  the 
a;ernoon  horse  before  I touch  a penny. 

“Of  course  it  is  not  always  as  bad  as  that,  but 
yu  know  it  often  is.  I say  ’tis  a mockery  to 
M a man  that  he  must  not  overwork  his  horse, 
f(*  when  a beast  is  downright  tired  there’s 
nthing  but  the  whip  that  will  keep  his  legs 
aping.  You  can’t  help  yourself — you  must 

: r 


228 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


put  your  wife  and  children  before  the  hors; 
the  master  must  look  to  that,  we  can’t.  I do;t 
ill-use  my  horse  for  the  sake  of  it;  none  of  yj 
can  say  I do.  There’s  wrong  lays  somewhere - 
never  a day’s  rest,  never  a quiet  hour  with  te 
wife  and  children.  I often  feel  like  an  old  ms, 
though  I’m  only  forty-five. 

“You  know  how  quick  some  of  the  gent/ 
are  to  suspect  us  of  cheating  and  overchargiir. 
Why,  they  stand  with  their  purses  in  their  hans 
counting  it  over  to  a penny,  and  looking  at  3 
as  if  we  were  pickpockets.  I wish  some  of  ’ei 
had  to  sit  on  my  box  sixteen  hours  a day  ail 
get  a living  out  of  it  and  eighteen  shilling 
besides,  and  that  in  all  weathers.  They  won! 
not  be  so  uncommon  particular  never  to  give  3 
a sixpence  over,  or  to  cram  all  the  luggap 
inside.  Of  course  some  of  ’em  tip  us  pret/ 
handsome  now  and  then,  or  else  we  could  n; 
live,  but  you  can’t  depend  upon  that.” 

The  men  who  stood  round  much  approvd 
this  speech,  and  one  of  them  said,  “It  is  despe- 
ate  hard,  and  if  a man  sometimes  does  what  5 
wrong  it  is  no  wonder,  and  if  he  gets  a drai 
too  much,  who’s  to  blow  him  up?” 

Jerry  had  taken  no  part  in  this  convers- 
ion, but  I never  saw  his  face  look  so  sad  befor. 
The  Governor  had  stood  with  both  his  hands  :i 


SEEDYSAM  229 


bs  pockets;  now  he  took  his  handkerchief  out 
c his  hat  and  wiped  his  forehead. 

“You’ve  beaten  me,  Sam,”  he  said,  “for  it’s 
si  true,  and  I won’t  cast  it  up  to  you  any  more 
grout  the  police.  It  was  the  look  in  that  horse’s 
ere  that  came  over  me.  It  is  hard  lines  for  man, 
aid  it  is  hard  lines  for  beast,  and  who’s  to  mend 
i I don’t  know;  but  anyway  you  might  tell  the 
por  beast  that  you  were  sorry  to  take  it  out  of 
bm  in  that  way.  Sometimes  a kind  word  is  all 
ve  can  give  ’em,  poor  brutes,  and  ’tis  wonderful 
^hat  they  do  understand.” 

A few  mornings  after  this  talk  a new  man 
cme  on  the  stand  with  Sam’s  cab. 

“Halloo!”  said  one,  “what’s  up  with  Seedy 
Sun?” 

“He’s  ill  in  bed,”  said  the  man,  “he  was 
tken  last  night  in  the  yard,  and  could  scarcely 
c'awl  home.  His  wife  sent  a boy  this  morning 
t say  his  father  was  in  a high  fever  and  could 
nt  get  out;  so  I’m  here  instead.” 

The  next  morning  the  same  man  came 


rain. 

“How  is  Sam?”  inquired  the  Governor. 
“He’s  gone,”  said  the  man. 

“What!  gone?  You  don’t  mean  to  say  he’s 


ad? 


“Just  snuffed  out,”  said  the  other,  “he  died 


ta 


230 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


at  four  o’clock  this  morning.  All  yesterday  h 
was  raving — raving  about  Skinner,  and  havir; 
no  Sundays.  T never  had  a Sunday’s  rest’  we  > 
his  last  words.” 

No  one  spoke  for  a while,  and  then  the  Go- 
ernor  said,  “I  tell  you  what,  mates,  this  is  i 
warning  for  us.” 


Chapter  XL 

POOR  GINGER 

I 

ONE  day,  while  our  cab  and  many  others 
were  waiting  outside  one  of  the  parks 
where  music  was  playing,  a shabby  old  cab 
dove  up  beside  ours.  The  horse  was  an  old, 
vprn-out  chestnut,  with  an  ill-kept  coat,  and 
bnes  that  showed  plainly  through  it;  the  knees 
buckled  over,  and  the  forelegs  were  very 
.disteady. 

I had  been  eating  some  hay,  and  the  wind 
riled  a little  of  it  that  way.  The  poor  creature 
pit  out  her  long,  thin  neck  and  picked  it  up, 
ad  then  turned  round  and  looked  about  for 
nbre.  There  was  a hopeless  look  in  the  dull 
e e that  I could  not  help  noticing,  and  then,  as 
I was  thinking  where  I had  seen  that  horse 
b.fore,  she  looked  full  at  me  and  said,  “Black 
Bauty,  is  that  you?” 

It  was  Ginger!  but  how  changed!  The 
bautifully  arched  and  glossy  neck  was  now 
svaight  and  lank  and  fallen  in;  the  clean, 
sfaight  legs  and  delicate  fetlocks  were  swelled; 
tb  joints  were  grown  out  of  shape  with  hard 
wrk;  the  face,  that  once  was  so  full  of  spirit 

231 


232 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


and  life  was  now  full  of  suffering,  and  I could  te 
by  the  heaving  of  her  sides,  and  her  frequer 
cough,  how  bad  her  breath  was. 

Our  drivers  were  standing  together  a litt: 
way  off,  so  I sidled  up  to  her  a step  or  two,  th; 
we  might  have  a little  quiet  talk.  It  was  a sa 
tale  that  she  had  to  tell. 

After  a twelve-months’  run  off  at  Earlsha 
she  was  considered  to  be  fit  for  work  again,  ar 
was  sold  to  a gentleman.  For  a while  she  g( 
on  well,  but  after  a longer  gallop  than  usual  tt 
old  strain  returned,  and  after  being  rested  ar 
doctored  she  was  again  sold.  In  this  way  st 
changed  hands  several  times,  but  always  gettin 
lower  down. 

“And  so  at  last,”  said  she,  “I  was  bought  t 
a man  who  keeps  a number  of  cabs  and  horse 
and  lets  them  out.  You  look  well  off,  and  I ai 
glad  of  it,  but  I could  not  tell  you  what  my  lit 
has  been.  When  they  found  out  my  weaknes 
they  said  I was  not  worth  what  they  gave  fc 
me,  and  that  I must  go  into  one  of  the  low  cab. 
and  just  be  used  up.  That  is  what  they  an 
doing,  whipping  and  working  me  with  never  or; 
thought  of  what  I suffer — they  paid  for  me  ar. 
must  get  it  out  of  me,  they  say.  The  man  wl> 
hires  me  now  pays  a deal  of  money  to  the  own<' 
every  day,  and  so  he  has  to  get  it  out  of  me,  to; 


I 

POOR  GINGER  233 

jnd  so  it’s  all  the  week  round  and  round,  with 
fever  a Sunday  rest.” 

I said,  “You  used  to  stand  up  for  yourself 
i you  were  ill-used.” 

“Ah!”  she  said,  “I  did  once,  but  it’s  no  use. 
ten  are  strongest,  and  if  they  are  cruel  and 
lave  no  feeling,  there  is  nothing  we  can  do  but 
jist  bear  it — bear  it  on  and  on  to  the  end.  I 
tish  the  end  was  come;  I wish  I was  dead.  I have 
sen  dead  horses,  and  I am  sure  they  do  not 
Affer  pain.  I wish  I may  drop  down  dead  at 
iy  work,  and  not  be  sent  off  to  the  knacker’s.” 

I was  very  much  troubled  and  I put  my  nose 
p to  hers,  but  I could  say  nothing  to  comfort 
hr.  I think  she  was  pleased  to  see  me,  for  she 
aid,  “You  are  the  only  friend  I ever  had.” 

Just  then  her  driver  came  up,  and  with  a 
tg  at  her  mouth  backed  her  out  of  the  line  and 
rove  off,  leaving  me  very  sad  indeed. 

A short  time  after  this,  a cart  with  a dead 
brse  on  it  passed  our  cab  stand.  The  head 
hng  out  of  the  cart  tail,  the  lifeless  tongue  was 
SDwly  dropping  with  blood,  and  the  sunken  eyes ! 
ht  I can’t  speak  of  them;  the  sight  was  dread- 
: l1.  It  was  a chestnut  horse  with  a long,  thin 
nek.  I saw  a white  streak  down  the  forehead. 
Ipelieve  it  was  Ginger;  I hoped  it  was,  for  then 
hr  troubles  would  be  over. 


Chapter  XLI 
THE  BUTCHER 


I SAW  a great  deal  of  trouble  among  th 
horses  in  London,  and  much  of  it  that  mig]; 
have  been  prevented  by  a little  comma 
sense.  We  horses  do  not  mind  hard  work  if  vb 
are  treated  reasonably;  and  I am  sure  there  a:j 
many  driven  by  quite  poor  men  who  have  a ha  • 
pier  life  than  I had,  when  I used  to  go  in  th 

Countess  of  W *s  carriage,  with  my  silv: 

mounted  harness  and  high  feeding. 

It  often  went  to  my  heart  to  see  how  th 
little  ponies  were  used,  straining  along  wil 
heavy  loads,  or  staggering  under  heavy  blo^s 
from  some  low,  cruel  boy.  Once  I saw  a litta 
gray  pony  with  a thick  mane  and  a pretty  heal 
and  so  much  like  Merrylegs,  that  if  I had  nt 
been  in  harness,  I should  have  neighed  to  hij 
He  was  doing  his  best  to  pull  a heavy  cart,  whi 
a strong  rough  boy  was  cutting  him  under  tl 
belly  with  his  whip,  and  chucking  cruelly  at  If 
little  mouth.  Could  it  be  Merrylegs?  It  wl 
just  like  him;  but  then  Mr.  Blomefield  was  ne\i 
to  sell  him,  and  I think  he  would  not  do  it.  Bj 
this  might  have  been  quite  as  good  a little  f elloi- 
and  had  as  happy  a place  when  he  was  young.! 

234 


THE  BUTCHER 


235 


I often  noticed  the  great  speed  at  which 
Catchers’  horses  were  made  to  go.  I did  not 
how  why  this  was,  till  one  day  when  we  had  to 
\ait  some  time  in  St.  John’s  Wood.  There  was 
a butcher’s  shop  next  door,  and  as  we  were 
Sanding,  a butcher’s  cart  came  dashing  up  at 
A great  pace.  The  horse  was  hot,  and  much 
exhausted;  he  hung  his  head  down,  while  his 
having  sides  and  trembling  legs  showed  how 
lird  he  had  been  driven.  The  lad  jumped  out 
g the  cart  and  was  getting  the  basket,  when  the 
Master  came  out  of  the  shop  much  displeased, 
/fter  looking  at  the  horse,  he  turned  angrily  to 
tje  lad. 

J “How  many  times  shall  I tell  you  not  to 
!dive  in  this  way?  You  ruined  the  last  horse 
d broke  his  wind,  and  you  are  going  to  ruin 
is  in  the  same  way.  If  you  were  not  my  own 
n,  I would  dismiss  you  on  the  spot;  it  is  a dis- 
place to  have  a horse  brought  to  the  shop  in  a 
indition  like  that.  You  are  liable  to  be  taken 
by  the  police  for  such  driving,  and  if  you  are, 
iu  need  not  look  to  me  for  bail,  for  I have 
fken  to  you  till  I am  tired;  you  must  look  out 
* yourself.” 

During  this  speech,  the  boy  had  stood  by, 
len  and  dogged,  but  when  his  father  ceased, 
broke  out  angrily.  It  wasn’t  his  fault,  and 


236 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


he  wouldn’t  take  the  blame,  he  was  only  goir 
by  orders  all  the  time. 

“You  always  say,  ‘Now  be  quick;  now  loc 
sharp!’  and  when  I go  to  the  houses  one  wan 
a leg  of  mutton  for  an  early  dinner,  and  I mu; 
be  back  with  it  in  a quarter  of  an  hou 
Another  cook  has  forgotten  to  order  the  bee: 
I must  go  and  fetch  it  and  be  back  in  no  tim 
or  the  mistress  will  scold;  and  the  housekeepc 
says  they  have  company  coming  unexpectedl; 
and  must  have  some  chops  sent  up  directl; 
The  lady  at  No.  4,  in  the  Crescent,  never  ordei 
her  dinner  till  the  meat  comes  in  for  lunch,  an 
it’s  nothing  but  hurry,  hurry,  all  the  time.  ] 
the  gentry  would  think  of  what  they  want,  an 
order  their  meat  the  day  before,  there  need  nc 
be  this  blow  up!” 

“I  wish  to  goodness  they  would,”  said  th 
butcher,  “ ’twould  save  me  a wonderful  deal  c 
harass,  and  I could  suit  my  customers  much  be' 
ter  if  I knew  beforehand — But  there!  what’s  th 
use  of  talking — who  ever  thinks  of  a butcher 
convenience,  or  a butcher’s  horse?  Now,  thei 
take  him  in  and  look  to  him  well.  Mind,  he  doe 
not  go  out  again  today,  and  if  anything  else  i 
wanted,  you  must  carry  it  yourself  in  th 
basket.”  With  that  he  went  in,  and  the  hors 
was  led  away. 


THE  BUTCHER 


237 


But  all  boys  are  not  cruel.  I have  seen 
ome  as  fond  of  their  pony  or  donkey  as  if  it  had 
een  a favorite  dog,  and  the  little  creatures  have 
forked  away  as  cheerfully  and  willingly  for 
heir  young  drivers  as  I work  for  Jerry.  It  may 
e hard  work  sometimes,  but  a friend’s  hand 
nd  voice  make  it  easy. 

There  was  a young  coster  boy  who  came  up 
ur  street  with  greens  and  potatoes.  He  had 
n old  pony  not  very  handsome,  but  the  cheer- 
ulest  and  pluckiest  little  thing  I ever  saw,  and 
b see  how  fond  those  two  were  of  each  other 
ras  a treat.  The  pony  followed  his  master  like 
! dog,  and  when  he  got  into  his  cart,  would  trot 
ff  without  a whip  or  a word,  and  rattle  down 
le  street  as  merrily  as  if  he  had  come  out  of  the 
'ueen’s  stables.  Jerry  liked  the  boy,  and  called 
]im  “Prince  Charlie,”  for  he  said  he  would  make 
; king  of  drivers  some  day. 

There  was  an  old  man,  too,  who  used  to  come 
our  street  with  a little  coal  cart.  He  wore  a 
bal-heaver’s  hat,  and  looked  rough  and  black, 
i e and  his  old  horse  used  to  plod  together  along 
lie  street,  like  two  good  partners  who  under- 
wood each  other.  The  horse  would  stop  of  his 
(!vn  accord  at  the  doors  where  they  took  coal 
tom  him;  he  used  to  keep  one  ear  bent  toward 
I s master.  The  old  man’s  cry  could  be  heard  up 


238 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


the  street  long  before  he  came  near.  I neve 
knew  what  he  said,  but  the  children  called  hin 
“Old  Ba-a-ar  Hoo,”  for  it  sounded  like  that 
Polly  took  her  coal  from  him,  and  was  ver; 
friendly,  and  Jerry  said  it  was  a comfort  to  thin! 
how  happy  an  old  horse  might  be  in  a poor  place 


Chapter  XLII 
THE  ELECTION 

I 

AS  WE  came  into  the  yard  one  afternoon, 
f\  Polly  came  out.  “Jerry!  Fve  had  Mr.  B — 
here  asking  about  your  vote,  and  he  wants 
1)  hire  your  cab  for  the  election;  he  will  call  for 
«n  answer.” 

“Well,  Polly,  you  may  say  that  my  cab  will 
b otherwise  engaged.  I should  not  like  to  have 
j pasted  over  with  their  great  bills;  and  as  to 
raking  Jack  and  Captain  race  about  to  the 
Iiblic  houses  to  bring  up  half-drunken  voters, 
^hy  I think  ’twould  be  an  insult  to  the  horses, 
lo,  I sha’n’t  do  it.” 

“I  suppose  you’ll  vote  for  the  gentleman? 
le  said  he  was  of  your  politics.” 

“He  is  in  some  things,  but  I shall  not  vote 
i»r  him,  Polly;  you  know  what  his  trade  is?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,  a man  who  gets  rich  by  that  trade 
ray  be  all  very  well  in  some  ways,  but  he  is 
lind  as  to  what  workingmen  want:  I could 
r>t  in  my  conscience  send  him  up  to  make  the 
1 ws.  I daresay  they’ll  be  angry,  but  every  man 
rust  do  what  he  thinks  to  be  the  best  for  his 
c untry.” 


239 


240 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


On  the  morning  before  the  election,  Jerr 
was  putting  me  into  the  shafts,  when  Dolly  cam 
into  the  yard  sobbing  and  crying,  with  her  littl 
blue  frock  and  white  pinafore  spattered  all  ove 
with  mud. 

“Why,  Dolly,  what  is  the  matter?” 

“Those  naughty  boys,”  she  sobbed,  “hav 
thrown  the  dirt  all  over  me,  and  called  me 
little  raga — raga — ” 

“They  called  her  a little  ‘blue’  ragamuffir 
Father,”  said  Harry,  who  ran  in  looking  ver; 
angry,  “but  I have  given  it  to  them;  they  won’ 
insult  my  sister  again.  I have  given  them  : 
thrashing  they  will  remember;  a set  of  cowardl; 
rascally  ‘orange’  blackguards!” 

Jerry  kissed  the  child  and  said,  “Run  in  t< 
mother,  my  pet,  and  tell  her  I think  you  hat 
better  stay  at  home  today  and  help  her.” 

Then  turning  gravely  to  Harry,  “My  boy 
I hope  you  will  always  defend  your  sister,  ant 
give  anybody  who  insults  her  a good  thrashing 
— that  is  as  it  should  be;  but  mind,  I won’t  havi 
any  election  blackguarding  on  my  premises 
There  are  as  many  ‘blue’  blackguards  as  then 
are  ‘orange,’  and  as  many  white  as  there  art 
purple,  or  any  other  color,  and  I won’t  have  anj 
of  my  family  mixed  up  with  it.  Even  womer 
and  children  are  ready  to  quarrel  for  the  sake  o: 


THE  ELECTION  24] 

; color,  and  not  one  in  ten  of  them  knows  what 
i is  about.” 

“Why,  Father,  I thought  blue  was  for 
liberty.” 

“My  boy,  Liberty  does  not  come  from  colors; 
hey  only  show  party.  All  the  liberty  you  can 
jet  out  of  them  is  liberty  to  get  drunk  at  other 
jeople’s  expense,  liberty  to  ride  to  the  poll  in  a 
crty  old  cab,  liberty  to  abuse  anyone  that  does 
iot  wear  your  color,  and  to  shout  yourself  hoarse 
it  what  you  only  half  understand — that’s  your 
Jberty!” 

“Oh,  Father,  you  are  laughing.” 

“No,  Harry,  I am  serious,  and  I am  ashamed 
b see  how  men  go  on  that  ought  to  know  better. 
|n  election  is  a very  serious  thing;  at  least  it 
(light  to  be,  and  every  man  ought  to  vote  ac- 
ording  to  his  conscience,  and  let  his  neighbor 
o the  same.” 


Chapter  XLIII 
A FRIEND  IN  NEED 

AT  LAST  came  the  election  day;  there  was  n 
lack  of  work  for  me  and  Jerry.  First  cam 
a stout,  puffy  gentleman  with  a carpel 
bag;  he  wanted  to  go  to  the  Bishopsgate  Statior 
Then  we  were  called  by  a party  who  wished  to  b 
taken  to  the  Regent’s  Park;  and  next  we  wer 
wanted  in  a side  street,  where  a timid,  anxiou 
old  lady  was  waiting  to  be  taken  to  the  banl 
There  we  had  to  stop  to  take  her  back  again,  an 
just  as  we  had  set  her  down  a red-faced  gentle 
man  with  a handful  of  papers  came  running  u; 
out  of  breath,  and  before  Jerry  could  get  dow: 
he  had  opened  the  door,  popped  himself  in,  an 
called  out,  “Bow  Street  Police  Station,  quick !: 
So  off  we  went  with  him,  and  when  after  anothe 
turn  or  two  we  came  back,  there  was  no  othe 
cab  on  the  stand.  Jerry  put  on  my  nose  bag  foi 
as  he  said,  “We  must  eat  when  we  can  on  sue] 
days  as  these;  so  munch  away,  Jack,  and  mak 
the  best  of  your  time,  old  boy.” 

I found  I had  a good  feed  of  crushed  oat 
wetted  up  with  a little  bran ; this  would  be  a trea 
any  day,  but  very  refreshing  then.  J erry  was  s< 

242 


A FRIEND  IN  NEED  243 


houghtful  and  kind — what  horse  would  not  do 
ds  best  for  such  a master?  Then  he  took  out 
ne  of  Polly’s  meat  pies,  and  began  to  eat  it. 

The  streets  were  very  full,  and  the  cabs, 
/ith  the  candidates’  colors  on  them,  were  dash- 
pg  about  through  the  crowd  as  if  life  and  limb 
/ere  of  no  consequence;  we  saw  two  people 
nocked  down  that  day,  and  one  was  a woman, 
'he  horses  were  having  a bad  time  of  it,  poor 
'lings ! but  the  voters  inside  thought  nothing  of 
iat.  Many  of  them  were  half  drunk,  hurrahing 
<ut  of  the  cab  windows  if  their  own  party  came 
ly.  It  was  the  first  election  I had  seen,  and  I 
<on’t  want  to  be  in  another,  though  I have  heard 
i lings  are  better  now. 

Jerry  and  I had  not  eaten  many  mouthfuls, 
bfore  a poor  young  woman,  carrying  a heavy 
ciild,  came  along  the  street.  She  was  looking  this 
^ay  and  that  way,  and  seemed  quite  bewildered. 
Iresently  she  made  her  way  up  to  Jerry  and 
Eiked  if  he  could  tell  her  the  way  to  St.  Thomas’s 
lospital,  and  how  far  it  was  to  get  there.  She 
hd  come  from  the  country  that  morning,  she 
s id,  in  a market  cart;  she  did  not  know  about 
t e election,  and  was  quite  a stranger  in  London. 
£ie  had  got  an  order  for  the  hospital  for  her 
ljtle  boy.  The  child  was  crying  with  a feeble, 
piing  cry. 


244 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Poor  little  fellow!”  she  said,  “he  suffers 
deal  of  pain;  he  is  four  years  old,  and  can’t  wal 
any  more  than  a baby;  but  the  doctor  said  if 
could  get  him  into  the  hospital  he  might  get  wel 
Pray,  sir,  how  far  is  it?  and  which  way  is  it?” 
“Why,  missis,”  said  Jerry,  “you  can’t  ge 
there  walking  through  crowds  like  this!  It  j 
three  miles  away,  and  that  child  is  heavy.” 
“Yes,  bless  him,  he  is;  but  I am  strong 
thank  God,  and  if  I knew  the  way  I think  I shoul 
get  on  somehow.  Please  tell  me  the  way.” 
“You  can’t  do  it,”  said  Jerry;  “you  might  b 
knocked  down  and  the  child  be  run  over.  Nov 
look  here,  just  get  into  this  cab,  and  I’ll  drive  yo 
safe  to  the  hospital.  Don’t  you  see  the  rain  i 
coming  on?” 

“No,  sir,  no;  I can’t  do  that,  thank  you; 
have  only  money  enough  to  get  back  witf 
Please  tell  me  the  way.” 

“Look  you  here,  missis,”  said  Jerry,  “I’v 
got  a wife  and  dear  children  at  home,  and  I kno^ 
a father’s  feelings.  Now,  get  you  into  that  cal 
and  I’ll  take  you  there  for  nothing.  I’d  b 
ashamed  of  myself  to  let  a woman  and  a sic 
child  run  a risk  like  that.” 

“Heaven  bless  you!”  said  the  woman,  an 
burst  into  tears. 

“There,  there,  cheer  up,  my  dear;  I’ll  soo: 
take  you  there;  come,  let  me  put  you  inside.” 


,,ist  get  into  this  cab,  and  I’ll  drive  you  safe  to  the  hospital,”  said  Jerry 

m 


246 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


As  Jerry  went  to  open  the  door,  two  me 
with  colors  in  their  hats  and  buttonholes  ran  u] 
calling  out  “Cab!” 

“Engaged,”  cried  Jerry;  but  one  of  the  mei 
pushing  past  the  woman,  sprang  into  the  cal 
followed  by  the  other.  Jerry  looked  as  stern  as 
policeman.  “This  cab  is  already  engagec 
gentlemen,  by  that  lady.” 

“Lady!”  said  one  of  them.  “Oh!  she  ca 
wait;  our  business  is  very  important.  Besides  w 
were  in  first,  it  is  our  right,  and  we  shall  stay  in. 

A droll  smile  came  over  Jerry’s  face  as  h 
shut  the  door  upon  them.  “All  right,  gentlemer 
pray  stay  in  as  long  as  it  suits  you;  I can  wai 
while  you  rest  yourselves,”  and  turning  his  bad 
upon  them,  he  walked  up  to  the  woman  who  wa 
standing  near  me.  “They’ll  soon  be  gone,”  h 
said,  laughing,  “don’t  trouble  yourself,  m; 
dear.” 

And  they  soon  were  gone,  for  when  the; 
understood  Jerry’s  dodge  they  got  out,  callinj 
him  all  sorts  of  bad  names,  and  blustering  abou 
his  number  and  getting  a summons.  After  thi 
little  stoppage  we  were  soon  on  our  way  to  th 
hospital,  going  as  much  as  possible  through  by 
streets.  Jerry  rang  the  great  bell,  and  helpe< 
the  young  woman  out. 

“Thank  you  a thousand  times,”  she  said 
“I  could  never  have  got  there  alone.” 


A FRIEND  IN  NEED  247 

“You’re  kindly  welcome,  and  I hope  the  dear 
itiild  will  soon  be  better.”  He  watched  her  go  in 
it  the  door,  and  gently  he  said  to  himself,  “Inas- 
much as  ye  have  done  it  to  one  of  the  least  of 
nese.”  Then  he  patted  my  neck,  which  was 
jlways  his  way  when  anything  pleased  him. 

The  rain  was  now  coming  down  fast,  and 
1st  as  we  were  leaving  the  hospital  the  door 
('pened  again,  and  the  porter  called  out,  “Cab!” 
7e  stopped,  and  a lady  came  down  the  steps, 
esrry  seemed  to  know  her  at  once.  She  put  back 
ler  veil  and  said: 

“Barker!  Jeremiah  Barker!  is  it  you?  I am 
^ry  glad  to  find  you  here;  you  are  just  the 
fiend  I want,  for  it  is  very  difficult  to  get  a cab 
i.  this  part  of  London  today.” 

“I  shall  be  proud  to  serve  you,  ma’am.  I am 
|lad  I happened  to  be  here;  where  may  I take 
pu,  ma’am?” 

“To  the  Paddington  Station,  and  then  if  we 
re  in  good  time,  as  I think  we  shall  be,  you 
nail  tell  me  all  about  Mary  and  the  children.” 

We  got  to  the  station  in  good  time,  and, 
Ling  under  shelter,  the  lady  stood  a good  while 
hiking  to  Jerry.  I found  she  had  been  Polly’s 
ristress,  and  after  many  inquiries  about  her, 
ne  said,  “How  do  you  find  the  cab  work  suits 
3>u  in  winter?  I know  Mary  was  rather  anxious 
oout  you  last  year.” 


248 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“Yes,  ma’am,  she  was;  I had  a bad  coug 
that  followed  me  quite  into  the  warm  weathe] 
and  when  I am  kept  out  late  she  does  worr 
herself  a good  deal.  You  see,  ma’am,  it  is  a. 
hours  and  all  weathers,  and  that  does  try 
man’s  constitution.  But  I am  getting  on  prett; 
well,  and  I should  feel  quite  lost  if  I had  no 
horses  to  look  after.  I was  brought  up  to  it,  an« 
I am  afraid  I should  not  do  so  well  at  anythin] 
else.” 

“Well,  Barker,”  she  said,  “it  would  be  ; 
great  pity  that  you  should  seriously  risk  you 
health  in  this  work,  not  only  for  your  own,  bu 
for  Mary’s  and  the  children’s  sake.  There  an 
many  places  where  good  drivers  or  good  groom 
are  wanted;  and  if  ever  you  think  you  ought  ti 
give  up  this  cab  work  let  me  know.” 

Then  sending  some  kind  messages  to  Mary 
she  put  something  into  his  hand  saying,  “Then 
is  five  shillings  each  for  the  two  children;  Marj 
will  know  how  to  spend  it.” 

Jerry  thanked  her  and  seemed  mud 
pleased,  and  turning  out  of  the  station  we  at  Iasi 
reached  home,  and  I,  at  least,  was  tired. 


Chapter  XLIV 

OLD  CAPTAIN  AND  HIS  SUCCESSOR 

f^lAPTAIN  and  I were  great  friends.  He  was 
L,  a noble  old  fellow  and  was  very  good  com- 
pany. I never  thought  he  would  have  to 
eave  his  home  and  go  down  the  hill,  but  his  turn 
:ame;  and  this  was  how  it  happened.  I was  net 
here,  but  I heard  all  about  it. 

He  and  Jerry  had  taken  a party  to  the  great 
Railway  station  over  London  Bridge,  and  were 
oming  back,  somewhere  between  the  Bridge 
In d the  Monument,  when  Jerry  saw  a brewer’s 
mpty  dray  coming  along,  drawn  by  two  power- 
ul  horses.  The  drayman  was  lashing  his  horses 
yith  his  heavy  whip.  The  dray  was  light,  and 
hey  started  off  at  a furious  rate. 

The  man  had  no  control  over  them,  and  the 
treet  was  full  of  traffic.  One  young  girl  was 
mocked  down  and  run  over,  and  the  next 
noment  they  dashed  up  against  our  cab;  both 
he  wheels  were  torn  off  and  the  cab  was  thrown 
>ver. 

Captain,  was  dragged  down,  the  shafts 
plintered  and  one  of  them  ran  into  his  side, 
erry,  too,  was  thrown,  but  was  only  bruised; 

249 


250 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


nobody  could  tell  how  he  escaped;  he  always  sail 
it  was  a miracle. 

When  poor  Captain  was  got  up,  he  wa 
found  to  be  very  much  cut  and  knocked  about 
Jerry  led  him  home  gently,  and  a sad  sight  i 
was  to  see  the  blood  soaking  into  his  white  coat 
and  dropping  from  his  side  and  shoulder.  Th< 
drayman  was  proved  to  be  very  drunk,  and  wa: 
fined,  and  the  brewer  had  to  pay  damages  to  ou: 
master;  but  there  was  no  one  to  pay  damages  t( 
poor  Captain. 

The  farrier  did  the  best  he  could  to  ease  his 
pain  and  make  him  comfortable.  The  fly  had  tc 
be  mended,  and  for  several  days  I did  not  gc 
out,  and  Jerry  earned  nothing.  The  first  time 
we  went  to  the  stand  after  the  accident  the 
Governor  came  up  to  hear  how  Captain  was. 

“He’ll  never  get  over  it,”  said  Jerry,  “at 
least  not  for  my  work;  so  the  farrier  said  this 
morning.  He  says  he  may  do  for  carting  and 
that  sort  of  work.  It  has  put  me  out  very  much. 
Carting,  indeed ! I’ve  seen  what  horses  come  to 
at  that  work  round  London.  I only  wish  that  all 
the  drunkards  could  be  put  in  a lunatic  asylum, 
instead  of  allowed  to  run  foul  of  sober  people.  If 
they  would  break  their  own  bones,  and  smash 
their  own  carts,  and  lame  their  own  horses,  that 
would  be  their  own  affair  and  we  might  let  them 


OLD  CAPTAIN 


251 


done;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  innocent 
dways  suffer. 

“Then  they  talk  about  compensation!  You 
:an’t  make  compensation;  there’s  all  the  trouble, 
md  vexation,  and  loss  of  time,  besides  losing  a 
rood  horse  that’s  like  an  old  friend — it’s  non- 
lense  talking  of  compensation!  If  there’s  one 
ievil  that  I should  like  to  see  in  the  bottomless 
)it  more  than  another  it’s  the  drink  devil.” 

“I  say,  Jerry,”  said  the  Governor,  “you  are 
reading  pretty  hard  on  my  toes,  you  know;  I’m 
lot  so  good  as  you  are,  more  shame  for  me;  I 
vish  I was.” 

“Why  don’t  you  cut  it,  Governor?  You  are 
oo  good  a man  to  be  the  slave  of  such  a thing.” 

“I’m  a great  fool,  Jerry,  but  I tried  it  once 
:‘or  two  days,  and  I thought  I should  have  died, 
low  did  you  do?” 

“I  had  hard  work  at  it  for  several  weeks, 
fou  see  I never  did  get  drunk,  but  I found  that 
was  not  my  own  master,  and  that  when  the 
raving  came  on  it  was  hard  work  to  say  ‘No.’  I 
aw  that  one  of  us  must  knock  under,  the  drink 
tevil  or  Jerry  Barker,  and  I said  that  it  should 
lot  be  Jerry  Barker,  God  helping  me. 

“But  it  was  a struggle,  and  I wanted  all  the 
telp  I could  get,  for  till  I tried  to  break  the  habit 
did  not  know  how  strong  it  was;  but  then  Polly 


252 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


took  great  pains  that  I should  have  good  food 
and  when  the  craving  came  on  I used  to  get  a cuj 
of  coffee,  or  some  peppermint,  or  read  a bit  in  m; 
book,  and  that  was  a help  to  me.  Sometimes  ' 
had  to  say  over  and  over  to  myself : ‘Give  up  th< 
drink  or  lose  your  soul!  Give  up  the  drink  03 
break  Polly’s  heart!’  but  thanks  be  to  God  anc 
my  wife,  my  chains  were  broken,  and  now  for  ter 
years  I have  not  tasted  a drop,  and  never  wist 
for  it.” 

“I’ve  a great  mind  to  try  it,”  said  Grant 
“for  ’tis  a poor  thing  not  to  be  one’s  master.’ 

“Do,  Governor,  you’ll  never  repent  it;  and 
what  a help  it  would  be  to  some  of  the  poor 
fellows  in  our  rank  if  they  saw  you  do  without  it. 
I know  there  are  two  or  three  would  like  to  keep 
out  of  the  tavern  if  they  could.” 

At  first  Captain  seemed  to  do  well,  but  he 
was  a very  old  horse,  and  it  was  only  his  wonder- 
ful constitution  and  Jerry’s  care  that  had  kept 
him  at  the  cab  work  so  long;  now  he  broke  down 
very  much.  The  farrier  said  he  might  mend  up 
enough  to  sell  for  a few  pounds,  but  Jerry  said, 
no!  A few  pounds  got  by  selling  a good  old 
servant  into  hard  work  and  misery  would  canker 
all  the  rest  of  his  money.  He  thought  the  kindest 
thing  he  could  do  for  the  fine  old  fellow  would 
be  to  put  a sure  bullet  through  his  head,  and 


OLD  CAPTAIN  253 

hen  he  would  never  suffer  more,  for  he  did  not 
now  where  to  find  a kind  master  for  the  rest 
f his  days. 

The  day  after  this  was  decided,  Harry  took 
jie  to  the  forge  for  some  new  shoes;  when  I 
returned,'  Captain  was  gone.  The  family  and  I 
i;ll  felt  it  very  much. 

Jerry  had  now  to  look  out  for  another  horse, 
;nd  he  soon  heard  of  one  through  an  acquaint- 
itice  who  was  undergroom  in  a nobleman’s 
cables.  He  was  a valuable  young  horse,  but  he 
lad  run  away,  smashed  into  another  carriage, 
lung  his  lordship  out,  and  so  cut  and  blemished 
limself  that  he  was  no  longer  fit  for  a gentle- 
nan’s  stables,  and  the  coachman  had  orders  to 
Ink  around  and  sell  him  as  well  as  he  could. 

“I  could  do  with  high  spirits,”  said  Jerry,  “if 
i horse  is  not  vicious  or  hard-mouthed.” 

“There  is  not  a bit  of  vice  in  him,”  said  the 
1 an.  “His  mouth  is  very  tender,  and  I think 
hat  was  the  cause  of  the  accident;  he  had  just 
ben  clipped,  and  the  weather  was  bad,  and  he 
lid  not  had  exercise  enough,  and  when  he  did 
jo  out  he  was  as  full  of  spring  as  a balloon.  Our 
£)vernor  (the  coachman,  I mean) , had  him  har- 
assed in  as  tight  and  strong  as  he  could,  with 
t e martingale,  and  the  checkrein,  a sharp  curb, 
ad  the  reins  put  in  at  the  bottom  bar.  It  is  my 


254 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


belief  that  it  made  the  horse  mad,  being  tendr 
in  the  mouth  and  so  full  of  spirit.” 

“Likely  enough.  I’ll  come  and  see  hiir’ 
said  Jerry. 

The  next  day,  Hotspur,  for  that  was  h 
name,  came  home.  He  was  a fine,  brown  hors, 
without  a white  hair  in  him,  as  tall  as  Captai, 
with  a very  handsome  head,  and  only  five  yeas 
old.  I gave  him  a friendly  greeting  by  way  f 
good  fellowship,  but  did  not  ask  him  any  que- 
tions.  The  first  night  he  was  very  restless.  I- 
stead  of  lying  down,  he  kept  jerking  his  haltr 
rope  up  and  down  through  the  ring,  and  knoc- 
ing  the  block  about  against  the  manger  tilll 
could  not  sleep. 

The  next  day,  after  five  or  six  hours  in  t a 
cab,  he  came  in  quiet  and  sensible.  Jerry  patti 
and  talked  to  him  a good  deal,  and  very  soa 
they  understood  each  other.  Jerry  said  that  wii 
an  easy  bit  and  plenty  of  work  he  would  be  s 
gentle  as  a lamb;  and  that  it  was  an  ill  wind  tht 
blew  nobody  good,  for  if  his  lordship  had  losta 
hundred-guinea  favorite,  the  cabman  had  gainl 
a good  horse  with  all  his  strength  in  him. 

Hotspur  thought  it  a great  comedown  o 
be  a cab  horse  and  was  disgusted  at  standing  n 
the  rank,  but  he  confessed  to  me  at  the  end  i 
the  week  that  an  easy  mouth  and  a free  hec 


OLD  CAPTAIN 


255 


rade  up  for  a great  deal,  and,  after  all,  the  work 
vas  not  so  degrading  as  having  one’s  head 
aid  tail  fastened  to  each  other  at  the  saddle. 
I fact,  he  settled  in  well,  and  Jerry  liked  him 
vry  much. 

I 

i 


Chapter  XLV 


JERRY’S  NEW  YEAR 

CHRISTMAS  and  the  New  Year  are  ver 
merry  times  for  some  people;  but  for  ca- 
men  and  cabmen’s  horses  it  is  no  holida, 
though  it  may  be  a harvest.  There  are  so  mar 
parties,  balls,  and  places  of  amusement  ope, 
that  the  work  is  hard  and  often  late.  Sometime 
driver  and  horse  have  to  wait  for  hours  in  tb 
rain  or  frost,  shivering  with  cold,  while  tb 
merry  people  within  are  dancing  away  to  tb 
music.  I wonder  if  the  beautiful  ladies  ev: 
think  of  the  weary  cabman  waiting  on  his  bo, 
and  his  patient  beast  standing  till  his  legs  gt 
stiff  with  cold. 

I had  now  most  of  the  evening  work,  as! 
was  well  accustomed  to  standing,  and  J erry  w;$ 
also  more  afraid  of  Hotspur’s  taking  cold.  W 
had  a great  deal  of  late  work  in  the  Christms 
week,  and  Jerry’s  cough  was  bad;  but,  howevp 
late  we  were,  Polly  sat  up  for  him,  and  came  ot 
with  a lantern  to  meet  him,  looking  anxious  ail 
troubled. 

On  the  evening  of  the  New  Year  we  had  ) 
take  two  gentlemen  to  a house  in  one  of  the  Wet 

266 


JERRY’S  NEW  YEAR  257 


]nd  squares.  We  set  them  down  at  nine  o’clock, 
ad  were  told  to  come  again  at  eleven,  “but,” 
aid  one  of  them,  “as  it  is  a card  party  you  may 
]ave  to  wait  a few  minutes,  but  don’t  be  late.” 

As  the  clock  struck  eleven  we  were  at  the 
oor,  for  Jerry  was  always  punctual.  The  clock 
aimed  the  quarter,  one,  two,  three,  and  then 
sruck  twelve,  but  the  door  did  not  open. 

The  wind  had  been  very  changeable,  with 
quails  of  rain  during  the  day,  but  now  it  came 
(1  sharp,  driving  sleet,  which  seemed  to  come 
[11  the  way  round;  it  was  very  cold,  and  there 
fas  no  shelter.  Jerry  got  off  his  box  and  came 
fed  pulled  one  of  my  cloths  a little  more  over 
iiy  neck;  then  he  took  a turn  or  two  up  and 
own,  stamping  his  feet;  then  he  began  to  beat 
Ks  arms,  but  that  set  him  off  coughing;  so  he 
oened  the  cab  door  and  sat  at  the  bottom  with 
Is  feet  on  the  pavement,  and  was  a little  sheh 
ftred.  Still  the  clock  chimed  the  quarters,  and 
id  one  came.  At  half-past  twelve  he  rang  the 
fell  and  asked  the  servant  if  he  would  be  wanted 
hat  night. 

“Oh,  yes,  you’ll  be  wanted  safe  enough,” 
aid  the  man,  “you  must  not  go,  it  will  soon  be 
i/er,”  and  again  Jerry  sat  down,  but  his  voice 
’ as  so  hoarse  I could  hardly  hear  him. 

At  a quarter-past  one  the  door  opened  and 


258 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


the  two  gentlemen  came  out.  They  got  into  U 
cab  without  a word  and  told  Jerry  where  d 
drive;  it  was  nearly  two  miles.  My  legs  we 3 
numb  with  cold,  and  I thought  I should  has 
stumbled.  When  the  men  got  out  they  nevr 
said  they  were  sorry  to  have  kept  us  waiting  d 
long,  but  were  angry  at  the  charge.  Howeve, 
as  Jerry  never  charged  more  than  was  his  dr, 
he  never  took  less,  and  they  had  to  pay  for  t'3 
two  hours  and  a quarter  waiting;  but  it  ws 
hard-earned  money  to  Jerry. 

At  last  he  got  home.  He  could  hardly  spea , 
and  his  cough  was  dreadful.  Polly  asked  n 
questions,  but  opened  the  door  and  held  tb 
lantern  for  him. 

“Can’t  I do  something?”  she  said. 

“Yes;  get  Jack  something  warm,  and  tha 
boil  me  some  gruel.” 

This  was  said  in  a hoarse  whisper,  h 
could  hardly  get  his  breath,  but  he  gave  mei 
rubdown,  as  usual,  and  even  went  up  into  tb 
hayloft  for  an  extra  bundle  of  straw  for  my  be. 
Polly  brought  me  a warm  mash  that  made  m 
comfortable,  and  then  they  locked  the  door. 

It  was  late  the  next  morning  before  anyou 
came,  and  then  it  was  only  Harry.  He  cleaned  is 
and  fed  us,  and  swept  out  the  stalls;  then  he  pi 
the  straw  back  again  as  if  it  was  Sunday.  B 


JERRY'S  NEW  YEAR  259 


vis  very  still,  and  neither  whistled  nor  sang.  At 
Don  he  came  again  and  gave  us  our  food  and 
viter.  This  time  Dolly  came  with  him;  she  was 
eying,  and  I could  gather  from  what  they  said 
t at  Jerry  was  dangerously  ill,  and  the  doctor 
sid  it  was  a bad  case.  So  two  days  passed,  and 
tere  was  great  trouble  indoors.  We  only  saw 
arry,  and  sometimes  Dolly.  I think  she  came 
jr  company,  for  Polly  was  always  with  Jerry, 
Id  he  had  to  be  kept  very  quiet. 

On  the  third  day,  while  Harry  was  in  the 
sable,  a tap  came  at  the  door,  and  Governor 
Gant  came  in. 

“I  wouldn't  go  to  the  house,  my  boy,”  he 
sid,  “but  I want  to  know  how  your  father  is.” 
“He  is  very  bad,”  said  Harry,  “he  can't  be 
ruch  worse.  They  call  it  ‘bronchitis';  the  doctor 
tlinks  it  will  turn  one  way  or  another  tonight.” 
“That’s  bad,  very  bad,”  said  Grant,  shaking 
h?  head,  “I  know  two  men  who  died  of  that  last 
wek.  It  takes  'em  off  in  no  time;  but  while 
tfere’s  life  there’s  hope,  so  you  must  keep  up 
y.ur  spirits.” 

“Yes,”  said  Harry,  quickly,  “and  the  doctor 
s;  id  that  father  had  a better  chance  than  most 
npn,  because  he  didn’t  drink.  He  said  yesterday 
tb  fever  was  so  high,  that  if  father  had  been  a 
d inking  man  it  would  have  burned  him  up  like  a 


260 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


piece  of  paper;  but  he  thinks  he  will  get  over  „ 
Don’t  you  think  he  will,  Mr.  Grant?” 

The  Governor  looked  puzzled.  “If  ther<3 
any  rule  that  good  men  should  get  over  the  3 
things,  I am  sure  he  will,  my  boy;  he’s  the  bet 
man  I know.  I’ll  look  in  early  tomorrow.” 
Early  next  morning  he  was  there. 
“Well?”  said  he. 

“Father  is  better,”  said  Harry.  “Moth: 
thinks  he  will  get  over  it.” 

“Thank  God!”  said  the  Governor,  “and  no' 
you  must  keep  him  warm,  and  keep  his  mill 
easy,  and  that  brings  me  to  the  horses.  You  se, 
Jack  will  be  all  the  better  for  the  rest  of  a wee; 
or  two  in  a warm  stable,  and  you  can  easily  tab 
him  a turn  up  and  down  the  street  to  stretch  hi 
legs;  but  this  young  one,  if  he  does  not  g; 
work,  will  soon  be  all  up  on  end,  as  you  may  sa, 
and  will  be  rather  too  much  for  you;  and  whe. 
he  does  go  out,  there’ll  be  an  accident.” 

“It  is  like  that  now,”  said  Harry.  “I  hav 
kept  him  short  of  corn,  but  he’s  so  full  of  spin 
I don’t  know  what  to  do  with  him.” 

“Just  so,”  said  Grant.  “Now,  look  here,  wi 
you  tell  your  mother  that,  if  she  is  agreeable,  ’ 
will  come  for  him  every  day  until  something 
arranged,  and  take  him  for  a good  spell  of  worl 
and  whatever  he  earns,  I’ll  bring  your  mothe 


JERRY’S  NEW  YEAR  261 


Ilf  of  it,  and  that  will  help  with  the  horses’ 
fed.  Your  father  is  in  a good  club,  I know,  but 
;at  won’t  keep  the  horses,  and  they’ll  be  eating 
jeir  heads  off  all  this  time.  I’ll  come  at  noon 
Id  hear  what  she  says.”  Without  waiting  for 
larry’s  thanks,  he  was  gone. 

At  noon  I think  he  went  and  saw  Polly,  for 
b and  Harry  came  to  the  stable  together,  har- 
assed Hotspur,  and  took  him  out.  For  a week 
more  he  came  for  Hotspur,  and  when  Harry 
tanked  him  or  said  anything  about  his  kind- 
ss,  he  laughed  it  off,  saying  it  was  all  good 
fck  for  him,  for  his  horses  were  wanting  a little 
rpt  which  they  would  not  otherwise  have  had. 

Jerry  grew  better  steadily,  but  the  doctor 
s id  that  he  must  never  go  back  to  the  cab  work 
a ain  if  he  wished  to  live  to  be  an  old  man.  The 
c ildren  had  many  consultations  together  about 
Mat  father  and  mother  would  do,  and  how  they 
cold  help  to  earn  money. 

One  afternoon  Hotspur  was  brought  in  very 
Vit  and  dirty. 

, “The  streets  are  nothing  but  slush,”  said  the 
Gvernor,  “it  will  give  you  a good  warming,  my 
by,  to  get  him  clean  and  dry.” 

“All  right,  Governor,”  said  Harry,  “I  shall 
nt  leave  him  till  he  is;  you  know  I have  been 
t:  lined  by  my  father.” 


262 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


“I  wish  all  the  boys  had  been  trained  l:e 
you,”  said  the  Governor. 

While  Harry  was  sponging  off  the  mud  fr  .11 
Hotspur’s  body  and  legs,  Dolly  came  in,  lookig 
very  full  of  something. 

“Who  lives  at  Fairstowe,  Harry?  Motbr 
has  got  a letter  from  Fairstowe;  she  seemed ;o 
glad,  and  ran  upstairs  to  father  with  it.” 

“Don’t  you  know?  Why,  it  is  the  namerf 
Mrs.  Fowler’s  place — mother’s  old  mistress,  yu 
know — the  lady  that  father  met  last  summr,. 
who  sent  you  and  me  five  shillings  each.” 

“Oh!  Mrs.  Fowler;  of  course  I know  abut 
her.  I wonder  what  she  is  writing  to  mothr 
about.” 

“Mother  wrote  to  her  last  week,”  s;d 
Harry.  “You  know  she  told  father  if  he  evr 
gave  up  the  cab  work  she  would  like  to  know.  I 
wonder  what  she  says;  run  in  and  see,  Doll:” 
Harry  scrubbed  away  at  Hotspur  witha 
huish!  huish!  like  any  old  hostler.  In  a f.v 
minutes  Dolly  came  dancing  into  the  stable. 

“Oh!  Harry,  there  never  was  anything  0 
beautiful;  Mrs.  Fowler  says  we  are  all  to  go  ad 
live  near  her.  There  is  a cottage  now  empty  tht 
will  just  suit  us,  with  a garden  and  a hen  hone 
and  apple  trees,  and  everything ! and  her  coach 
man  is  going  away  in  the  spring,  and  then  se 


JERRY'S  NEW  YEAR  263 

Vill  want  father  in  his  place;  and  there  are  good 
fmilies  round,  where  you  can  get  a place  in  the 
girden,  or  the  stable,  or  as  a page  boy.  There’s 
a^ood  school  for  me,  too,  and  mother  is  laughing 
aid  crying  by  turns,  and  father  does  look  so 

ftppy!” 

'“That's  uncommon  jolly,"  said  Harry,  “and 
1st  the  right  thing,  I should  say;  it  will  suit 
flther  and  mother  both.  But  I don’t  intend  to 
U a page  boy  with  tight  clothes  and  rows  of 
|pit  buttons.  I’ll  be  a groom  or  a gardener." 

It  was  quickly  settled  that  as  soon  as  Jerry 
ms  well  enough,  they  should  remove  to  the 
chntry,  and  that  the  cab  and  horses  should  be 
sld  as  soon  as  possible. 

This  was  heavy  news  for  me,  for  I was  not 
yung  now,  and  could  not  look  for  any  improve- 
ment in  my  condition.  Since  I left  Birtwick  I had 
dver  been  so  happy  as  with  my  master  Jerry; 
b:t  three  years  of  cab  work,  even  under  the  best 
Editions,  will  tell  on  one’s  strength,  and  I felt 
;ht  I was  not  the  horse  that  I had  been. 

Grant  said  at  once  that  he  would  take 
J)tspur;  and  there  were  men  on  the  stand  who 
: |uld  have  bought  me,  but  Jerry  said  I should 
it  go  back  to  cab  work  again  with  just  anybody, 

: (the  Governor  promised  to  find  a place  for  me 
fll'ere  I should  be  comfortable. 


264 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


The  day  came  for  going  away.  Jerry  hd 
not  been  allowed  to  go  out  yet,  and  I never  s,,v 
him  after  that  New  Year’s  eve.  Polly  and  te 
children  came  to  bid  me  good-by. 

“Poor  old  Jack!  dear  old  Jack!  I wish  e 
could  take  you  with  us,”  she  said,  and  then  layi 
her  hand  on  my  mane,  she  put  her  face  close  o 
my  neck  and  kissed  me.  Dolly  was  crying  ad 
kissed  me,  too.  Harry  stroked  me  a great  del, 
but  said  nothing,  only  he  seemed  very  sad,  a:i 
so  I was  led  away  to  my  new  place. 


fen 


' 


PART  IV 


Chapter  XLVI 

JAKES  AND  THE  LADY 

WAS  sold  to  a corn  dealer  and  baker,  whom 
J.  Jerry  knew,  and  with  him  he  thought  I 
should  have  good  food  and  fair  work.  In  the 
f:st  he  was  quite  right,  and  if  my  master  had 
aways  been  on  the  premises,  I do  not  think  I 
sould  have  been  overloaded,  but  there  was  a 
f reman  who  was  always  hurrying  and  driving 
eery  one. 

Frequently  when  I had  quite  a full  load,  he 
v)uld  order  something  else  to  be  taken  on.  My 
crter,  whose  name  was  Jakes,  often  said  it  was 
rure  than  I ought  to  take,  but  the  other  always 
o erruled  him.  “ ’Twas  no  use  going  twice  when 
o.ce  would  do,”  and  he  chose  to  get  business 
frward. 

Jakes,  like  the  other  carters,  always  had  the 
ceckrein  up,  which  prevented  me  from  draw- 
% easily,  and  by  the  time  I had  been  there  three 
c four  months,  I found  the  work  telling  very 
Each  on  my  strength. 

One  day,  I was  loaded  more  than  usual,  and 
E<rt  of  the  road  was  a steep  uphill.  I used  all  my 


266 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


strength,  but  I could  not  get  on,  and  was  oblige  1 
continually  to  stop.  This  did  not  please  m 
driver,  and  he  laid  his  whip  on  badly.  “Get  o, 
you  lazy  fellow,”  he  said,  “or  Til  make  you.” 
Again  I started  the  heavy  load,  ail 
struggled  on  a few  yards;  again  the  whip  cam 
down,  and  again  I struggled  forward.  The  pai 
of  that  great  cart  whip  was  sharp,  but  my  miit 
was  hurt  quite  as  much  as  my  poor  sides.  To  h 
punished  and  abused  when  I was  doing  my  ver 
best  was  so  hard  it  took  the  heart  out  of  me.  . 
third  time  he  was  flogging  me  cruelly,  when  i 
lady  stepped  quickly  up  to  him,  and  said  in  i 
sweet,  earnest  voice : 

“Oh ! pray  do  not  whip  your  good  horse  ar 
more;  I am  sure  he  is  doing  all  he  can.  The  rod 
is  very  steep ; I am  sure  he  is  doing  his  best.”  j 
“If  doing  his  best  won’t  get  this  load  up,  b 
must  do  something  more  than  his  best;  that’s  a 
I know,  ma’am,”  said  Jakes. 

“But  is  it  not  a heavy  load?”  she  said. 
“Yes,  yes,  too  heavy,  ” he  said,  “but  that) 
not  my  fault ; the  foreman  came  just  as  we  we:; 
starting,  and  would  have  three  hundred  weigl; 
more  put  on  to  save  him  trouble,  and  I must  go 
on  with  it  as  well  as  I can.  ” 

He  was  raising  the  whip  again,  when  tb 
lady  said: 


JAKES  AND  THE  LADY  267 


“Pray,  stop;  I think  I can  help  you  if  you 
nil  let  me.” 

The  man  laughed. 

“You  see,”  she  said,  “you  do  not  give  him  a 
air  chance;  he  cannot  use  all  his  power  with  his 
lead  held  back  as  it  is  with  that  checkrein.  If 
pu  would  take  it  off,  I am  sure  he  would  do 
fetter.  Do  try  it,”  she  said  persuasively,  “I 
nould  be  very  glad  if  you  would.” 

“Well,  well,”  said  Jakes,  with  a short  laugh, 
■anything  to  please  a lady,  of  course.  How  far 
tould  you  wish  it  down,  ma’am?” 

“Quite  down,  give  him  his  head  altogether.” 
The  rein  was  taken  off,  and  in  a moment  I 
jut  my  head  down  to  my  very  knees.  What  a 
omfort  it  was!  Then  I tossed  it  up  and  down 
everal  times  to  get  the  aching  stiffness  out  of 
iiy  neck. 

“Poor  fellow!  that  is  what  you  wanted,”  said 
ae,  patting  and  stroking  me  with  her  gentle 
land,  “and  now  if  you  will  speak  kindly  to  him 
fid  lead  him  on,  I believe  he  will  be  able  to  do 
letter.” 

Jakes  took  the  rein.  “Come  on,  Blackie.”  I 
jit  down  my  head,  and  threw  my  whole  weight 
gainst  the  collar.  I spared  no  strength;  the 
lad  moved  on,  and  I pulled  it  steadily  up  the  hill, 
iid  then  stopped  to  take  breath. 


268 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


The  lady  had  walked  along  the  footpat 
and  now  came  across  into  the  road.  She  stroke 
and  patted  my  neck,  as  I had  not  been  patted  fr 
many  a long  day. 

“You  see  he  was  quite  willing  when  yc 
gave  him  the  chance;  I am  sure  he  is  a fin 
tempered  creature,  and  I dare  say  has  know 
better  days.  You  won’t  put  that  rein  on  agat 
will  you?”  for  he  was  just  going  to  hitch  it  r 
on  the  old  plan. 

“Well,  ma’am,  I can’t  deny  that  having  h 
head  has  helped  him  up  the  hill,  and  I’ll  remen 
ber  it  another  time,  and  thank  you,  ma’am;  bi 
if  he  went  without  a checkrein,  I should  be  th 
laughingstock  of  all  the  carters;  it  is  th 
fashion,  you  see.” 

“Is  it  not  better,”  she  said,  “to  lead  a goo 
fashion  than  to  follow  a bad  one?  A great  man 
gentlemen  do  not  use  checkreins  now.  Our  cai 
riage  horses  have  not  worn  them  for  fiftee 
years,  and  work  with  much  less  fatigue  tha: 
those  who  have  them.  Besides,”  she  added  in 
very  serious  voice,  “we  have  no  right  to  distres 
any  of  God’s  creatures  without  a very  good  rea 
son.  We  call  them  dumb  animals,  and  so  the 
are,  for  they  cannot  tell  us  how  they  feel,  bn 
they  do  not  suffer  less  because  they  have  n 
words.  But  I must  not  detain  you  now;  I than! 


JAKES  AND  THE  LADY  269 


70U  for  trying  my  plan  with  your  good  horse,  and 
i am  sure  you  will  find  it  far  better  than  the  whip. 
}ood-day,”  and  with  another  soft  pat  on  my  neck 
she  stepped  lightly  across  the  path,  and  I saw  her 
ao  more. 

“That  was  a real  lady,  I’ll  be  bound  for  it,” 
said  Jakes  to  himself,  “she  spoke  just  as  polite 
is  if  I was  a gentleman,  and  I’ll  try  her  plan, 
iphill,  at  any  rate,”  and  I must  do  him  the 
ustice  to  say,  that  he  let  my  rein  out  several 
aoles,  and  going  uphill  after  that,  he  always 
rave  me  my  head;  but  the  heavy  loads  went  on. 

Good  feed  and  fair  rest  will  keep  up  one’s 
trength  under  full  work,  but  no  horse  can  stand 
igainst  overloading;  and  I was  getting  so 
horoughly  pulled  down  from  this  cause,  that  a 
ounger  horse  was  bought  in  my  place.  I may 
-s  well  mention  here  what  I suffered  at  this  time 
rom  another  cause.  I had  heard  horses  speak 
f it,  but  had  never  myself  had  experience  of  the 
.vil;  this  was  a badly  lighted  stable;  there  was 
nly  one  very  small  window  at  the  end,  and  the 
onsequence  was  that  the  stalls  were  almost 
ark. 

Besides  the  depressing  effect  this  had  on 
ly  spirits,  it  very  much  weakened  my  sight,  and 
dien  I was  suddenly  brought  out  of  the  dark- 
ess  into  the  glare  of  daylight,  it  was  very  pain- 


270 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


ful  to  my  eyes.  Several  times  I stumbled  ove 
the  threshold,  and  could  scarcely  see  where  ' 
was  going. 

I believe,  had  I stayed  there  very  long, 
should  have  become  purblind,  and  that  woulc 
have  been  a great  misfortune,  for  I have  hearc 
men  say  that  a stone-blind  horse  was  safer  t( 
drive  than  one  which  had  imperfect  sight,  as  ii 
generally  makes  them  very  timid.  However,  ] 
escaped  without  any  permanent  injury  to  m.} 
sight,  and  was  sold  to  a large  cab  owner. 


Chapter  XL VII 
HARD  TIMES 

I 

[ SHALL  never  forget  my  new  master.  He  had 
black  eyes  and  a hooked  nose,  his  mouth  was 
as  full  of  teeth  as  a bulldog’s,  and  his  voice 
was  as  harsh  as  the  grinding  of  cart  wheels  over 
gravel  stones.  His  name  was  Nicholas  Skinner, 
and  I believe  he  was  the  same  man  that  poor 
Seedy  Sam  drove  for. 

I have  heard  men  say  that  seeing  is  believ- 
ing, but  I should  say  that  feeling  is  believing; 
for  much  as  I had  seen  before,  I never  knew 
antil  now  the  utter  misery  of  a cab-horse’s  life. 
Skinner  had  a low  set  of  cabs  and  a low  set  of 
Irivers;  he  was  hard  on  the  men,  and  the  men 
were  hard  on  the  horses.  In  this  place  we  had 
10  Sunday  rest,  and  it  was  in  the  heat  of  summer. 

Sometimes  on  a Sunday  morning  a party 
)f  fast  men  would  hire  the  cab  for  the  day,  four 
)f  them  inside  and  another  with  the  driver,  and 
[ had  to  take  them  ten  or  fifteen  miles  out  into 
;he  country  and  back  again.  Never  would  any 
>f  them  get  down  to  walk  up  a hill,  let  it  be  ever 
so  steep,  or  the  day  ever  so  hot — unless,  indeed, 
when  the  driver  was  afraid  I should  not  manage 

271 


272 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


it;  and  sometimes  I was  so  fevered  and  won 
that  I could  hardly  touch  my  food.  How  I usee 
to  long  for  the  nice  bran  mash  with  niter  in  i 
that  Jerry  used  to  give  us  on  Saturday  nights  ir 
hot  weather,  that  used  to  cool  us  down  and  mak( 
us  so  comfortable.  Then  we  had  two  nights  anc 
a whole  day  for  unbroken  rest,  and  on  Monday 
morning  we  were  as  fresh  as  young  horses 
again ; but  here  there  was  no  rest,  and  my  drivei 
was  just  as  hard  as  his  master. 

He  had  a cruel  whip  with  something  sc 
sharp  at  the  end  that  it  sometimes  drew  blood, 
and  he  would  even  whip  me  under  the  belly,  and 
flip  the  lash  out  at  my  head.  Indignities  like 
these  took  the  heart  out  of  me  terribly,  but  still 
I did  my  best  and  never  hung  back,  for,  as  poor 
Ginger  said,  it  was  no  use;  men  are  the  stronger. 

My  life  was  now  so  wretched  that  I wished  I 
might,  like  Ginger,  drop  down  dead  at  my  work, 
and  be  out  of  my  misery,  and  one  day  my  wish 
very  nearly  come  to  pass. 

I went  on  the  stand  at  eight  in  the  morning, 
and  had  done  a good  share  of  work,  when  we  had 
to  take  a fare  to  the  railway.  A long  train  was 
expected  in,  so  my  driver  pulled  up  at  the  back 
of  some  of  the  outside  cabs,  to  take  the  chance  of 
a return  fare.  It  was  a very  heavy  train,  and  as 
all  the  cabs  were  soon  engaged,  ours  was  called 


HARD  TIMES 


273 


'or.  There  was  a party  of  four;  a noisy,  bluster- 
ing man  with  a lady,  a little  boy,  and  a young 
girl,  and  a great  deal  of  luggage.  The  lady  and 
;he  boy  got  into  the  cab,  and  while  the  man 
ordered  about  the  luggage,  the  young  girl  came 
md  looked  at  me. 

“Papa,”  she  said,  “I  am  sure  this  poor  horse 
jannot  take  us  and  all  our  luggage  so  far,  he  is 
;o  very  weak  and  worn  out;  do  look  at  him.” 

“Oh!  he’s  all  right,  miss,”  said  my  driver, 
‘he’s  strong  enough.” 

The  porter,  who  was  pulling  about  some 
leavy  boxes,  suggested  to  the  gentleman,  as 
here  was  so  much  luggage,  that  he  had  better 
ake  a second  cab. 

“Can  your  horse  do  it,  or  can’t  he?”  said  the 
flustering  man. 

“Oh!  he  can  do  it  all  right,  sir;  send  up  the 
exes,  porter;  he  could  take  more  than  that,” 
nd  he  helped  to  haul  up  a box  so  heavy  that  I 
ould  feel  the  springs  go  down. 

“Papa,  papa,  do  take  a second  cab,”  said  the 
oung  girl  beseechingly.  “I  am  sure  it  is  cruel.” 

“Nonsense,  Grace;  don’t  make  all  this  fuss. 
l pretty  thing  it  would  be  if  a man  of  business 
ad  to  examine  every  cab  horse  before  he  hired 
> — the  man  knows  his  own  business.  There, 
’et  in  and  hold  your  tongue!” 


274 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


My  gentle  friend  had  to  obey;  and  box  afte 
box  was  lodged  on  the  top  of  the  cab,  or  settlet 
by  the  side  of  the  driver.  At  last  all  was  ready 
and  with  his  usual  jerk  at  the  rein,  and  slash  o 
the  whip,  he  drove  out  of  the  station. 

The  load  was  very  heavy,  and  I had  ha( 
neither  food  nor  rest  since  morning;  but  I die 
my  best,  as  I always  had  done,  in  spite  of  cruelt: 
and  injustice. 

I got  along  fairly  till  we  came  to  Ludgah 
Hill,  but  there  the  load  and  my  own  exhaustior 
were  too  much.  I was  struggling  to  keep  on 
goaded  by  constant  chucks  of  the  rein  and  us( 
of  the  whip,  when,  in  a single  moment — I cannoi 
tell  how — my  feet  slipped  from  under  me;  and  1 
fell  heavily  to  the  ground  on  my  side. 

The  suddenness  and  the  force  with  which  1 
fell  seemed  to  beat  all  the  breath  out  of  my  body. 
I lay  perfectly  still;  indeed,  I had  no  power  tc 
move,  and  I thought  now  I was  going  to  die. 
I heard  a sort  of  confusion  round  me,  loud  angry 
voices,  and  the  getting  down  of  the  luggage,  but 
it  was  all  like  a dream.  I thought  I heard  that 
sweet,  pitiful  voice  saying,  “Oh!  that  poor  horse! 
it  is  all  our  fault; ” 

Someone  came  and  loosened  the  throat 
strap  of  my  bridle,  and  undid  the  traces  which 
kept  the  collar  so  tight  upon  me.  Someone 


HARD  TIMES 


275 


said,  “He’s  dead,  he’ll  never  get  up  again.” 
Then  I could  hear  a policeman  giving  orders, 
put  I did  not  even  open  my  eyes;  I could  only 
:Iraw  a gasping  breath  now  and  then.  Some 
3old  water  was  thrown  over  my  head,  and  some 
iordial  was  poured  into  my  mouth  and 
something  was  covered  over  me. 

I cannot  tell  how  long  I lay  there,  but 
~ found  my  life  coming  back,  and  a kind- voiced 
nan  was  patting  me  and  encouraging  me  to  rise. 
\fter  some  more  cordial  had  been  given  me  and 
ifter  one  or  two  attempts,  I staggered  to  my 
feet,  and  was  gently  led  to  some  stables  which 
vere  close  by.  Here  I was  put  into  a 
yell-littered  stall,  and  some  warm  gruel  was 
>rought  to  me,  which  I drank  thankfully. 

In  the  evening  I was  sufficiently  recovered 
o be  led  back  to  Skinner’s  stables,  where  I 
jhink  they  did  the  best  for  me  they  could.  In 
he  morning  Skinner  came  with  a farrier  to  look 
t me.  He  examined  me  very  closely  and  said : 

“This  is  a case  of  overwork  more  than 
isease,  and  if  you  could  give  him  a run  off  for 
ix  months,  he  would  be  able  to  work  again ; but 
ow  there  is  not  an  ounce  of  strength  in  him.” 

“Then  he  must  just  go  to  the  dogs,”  said 
kinner.  *T  have  no  meadows  to  nurse  sick 
orses  in — he  might  get  well  or  he  might  not. 


276 


BLACK  BEAUTY 

That  sort  of  thing  don’t  suit  my  business.  M 
plan  is  to  work  ’em  as  long  as  they’ll  go,  an 
then  sell  ’em  for  what  they’ll  fetch  at  th 
knacker’s  or  elsewhere.” 

“If  he  was  broken-winded,”  said  the  farriei 
“you  had  better  have  him  killed  out  of  hanc 
but  he  is  not.  There  is  a sale  of  horses  cominj 
off  in  about  ten  days;  if  you  rest  him  and  feei 
him  up,  he  may  pick  up,  and  you  may  get  mor 
than  his  skin  is  worth,  at  any  rate.” 

Upon  this  advice,  Skinner,  rather  unwill 
ingly,  I think,  gave  orders  that  I should  be  wel 
fed  and  cared  for,  and  the  stableman,  happil; 
for  me,  carried  out  the  orders  with  a much  bette: 
will  than  his  master  had  in  giving  them. 

Ten  days  of  perfect  rest,  plenty  of  goo( 
oats,  hay,  bran  mashes,  with  boiled  linseec 
mixed  in  them,  did  more  to  get  up  my  conditioi 
than  anything  else  could  have  done.  Thos( 
linseed  mashes  were  delicious,  and  I began  t( 
think,  after  all,  it  might  be  better  to  live  thar 
to  go  to  the  dogs.  When  the  twelfth  day  aftei 
the  accident  came,  I was  taken  to  the  sale,  i 
few  miles  out  of  London.  I felt  that  any  chang( 
from  my  present  place  must  be  an  improvement 
so  I held  up  my  head,  and  hoped  for  the  best. 


Chapter  XLVIII 


FARMER  THOROUGHGOOD  AND  HIS 
GRANDSON  WILLIE 

AT  THIS  sale,  of  course,  I found  myself 
f\  in  company  with  the  old  broken-down 
horses — some  lame,  some  broken-winded, 
ome  old,  and  some  that  I am  sure  it  would  have 
een  merciful  to  shoot. 

The  buyers,  and  sellers,  too,  many  of  them, 
)oked  not  much  better  off  than  the  poor  beasts 
ley  were  bargaining  about.  There  were  poor 
Id  men  trying  to  get  a horse  or  pony  for  a few 
jounds,  that  might  drag  about  some  little  wood 
coal  cart.  There  were  poor  men  trying  to  sell 
; worn-out  beast  for  two  or  three  pounds,  rather 
nan  have  the  greater  loss  of  killing  him. 

Some  of  them  looked  as  if  poverty  and  hard 
lines  had  hardened  them  all  over;  but  there 
^re  others  that  I would  have  willingly  used 
lie  last  of  my  strength  in  serving — poor  and 
nabby,  but  kind  and  humane,  with  voices  that 
j could  trust.  There  was  one  tottering  old  man 
hat  took  a great  fancy  to  me,  and  I to  him,  but 
] was  not  strong  enough — it  was  an  anxious 
ime! 

Coming  from  the  better  part  of  the  fair, 

277 


19 


278 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


I noticed  a man  who  looked  like  a gentlema 
farmer,  with  a young  boy  by  his  side.  He  h;l 
a broad  back  and  round  shoulders,  a kind,  rudo 
face,  and  he  wore  a broad-brimmed  hat.  Who 
he  came  up  to  me  and  my  companions  he  stod 
still  and  gave  a pitiful  look  round  upon  us.  I sai 
his  eye  rest  on  me.  I had  still  a good  mane  ail 
tail,  which  did  something  for  my  appearanc. 
I pricked  my  ears  and  looked  at  him. 

“There’s  a horse,”  said  Willie,  “that  h;s 
known  better  days.  Poor  old  fellow!”  said  tb 
boy.  “Do  you  think,  Grandpa,  he  was  ever  t 
carriage  horse?” 

“Oh,  yes!”  said  the  farmer,  “he  might  hav 
been  anything  when  he  was  young.  Look  at  h; 
nostrils  and  his  ears,  the  shape  of  his  neck  ar. 
shoulder;  there’s  a deal  of  breeding  about  tk; 
horse.”  He  put  out  his  hand  and  gave  me  a kin 
pat  on  the  neck.  I put  out  my  nose  in  answer  1 
his  kindness;  the  boy  stroked  my  face. 

“Poor  old  fellow!  See,  Grandpapa,  ho1 
well  he  understands  kindness.  Could  not  yo 
buy  him  and  make  him  young  again  as  you  di 
with  Ladybird?” 

“My  dear  boy,  I can’t  make  old  horse 
young;  besides,  Ladybird  was  not  so  old  as  sh 
was  run  down  and  badly  used.” 

“Well,  Grandpapa,  I don’t  believe  that  thi 


FARMER  THOROUGHGOOD  279 

ihe  is  old;  look  at  his  mane  and  tail.  I wish  you 
*ould  look  into  his  mouth,  and  then  you  could 
ill;  though  he  is  so  very  thin,  his  eyes  are  not 
unk  like  some  old  horses’.’' 

The  old  gentleman  laughed.  “Bless  the 
by!  he  is  as  horsey  as  his  old  grandfather.” 
“But  do  look  at  his  mouth,  Grandpapa,  and 
Me  the  price.  I am  sure  he  would  grow  strong  in 
or  meadows.” 

The  man  who  had  brought  me  for  sale  now 
jut  in  his  word. 

“The  young  gentleman’s  a real  knowing 
tie,  sir.  Now  the  fact  is,  this  ’ere  horse  is  just 
jilled  down  with  overwork  in  the  cabs.  He’s 
it  an  old  one,  and  I heard  as  how  the  veterinary 
aid  that  a six  months’  run  off  would  set  him 
ight  up,  being  as  how  his  wind  was  not  broken, 
ke  had  the  tending  of  him  these  ten  days  past, 
ad  a gratefuler,  pleasanter  animal  I never  met 
\ith,  and  ’twould  be  worth  a gentleman’s  while 
t give  a five-pound  note  for  him  and  let  him 
live  a chance.  I’ll  be  bound  he’d  be  worth 
twenty  pounds  next  spring.” 

The  old  gentleman  laughed,  and  the  little 
by  looked  up  eagerly. 

“Oh,  Grandpapa,  did  you  not  say  the  colt 
sld  for  five  pounds  more  than  you  expected? 
hu  would  not  be  poorer  if  you  did  buy  this  one.” 


280 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


The  farmer  felt  my  legs,  which  were  muc 
swelled  and  strained;  then  he  looked  at  m 
mouth.  “Thirteen  or  fourteen,  I should  say 
just  trot  him  out,  will  you?” 

I arched  my  poor  thin  neck,  raised  my  ta 
a little,  threw  out  my  legs  as  well  as  I could,  fo 
they  were  very  stiff. 

“What  is  the  lowest  you  will  take  for  him? 
said  the  farmer  as  I came  back. 

“Five  pounds,  sir;  that  was  the  lowest  pric 
my  master  set.” 

“ ’Tis  a speculation,”  said  the  old  gentle 
man,  shaking  his  head,  but  at  the  same  tim 
slowly  drawing  out  his  purse,  “quite  a specula 
tion!  Have  you  any  more  business  here?”  h 
said,  counting  the  sovereigns  into  his  hand. 

“No,  sir;  I can  take  him  for  you  to  the  inn 
if  you  please.” 

“Do  so;  I am  now  going  there.” 

They  walked  forward,  and  I was  led  behind 
The  boy  could  hardly  control  his  delight,  and  th< 
old  gentleman  seemed  to  enjoy  his  pleasure 
I had  a good  feed  at  the  inn,  and  was  then  gentlj 
ridden  home  by  a servant  of  my  new  master’s 
and  turned  into  a large  meadow  with  a shed  ii 
one  corner  of  it. 

Mr.  Thoroughgood,  for  that  was  the  nam( 
of  my  benefactor,  gave  orders  that  I should  hav* 


FARMER  THOROUGHGOOD  281 


lay  and  oats  every  night  and  morning,  and  the 
•un  of  the  meadow  during  the  day.  “You, 
Willie,”  said  he,  “must  take  the  oversight  of 
lim;  I give  him  in  charge  to  you.” 

The  boy  was  proud  of  his  charge,  and  under- 
ook it  in  all  seriousness.  There  was  not  a day 
hat  he  did  not  pay  me  a visit;  sometimes  picking 
ne  out  from  among  the  other  horses  and  giving 
ne  a bit  of  carrot,  or  something  good,  or 
landing  by  while  I ate  my  oats.  He  always 
:ame  with  kind  words  and  caresses,  and  I grew 
very  fond  of  him.  He  called  me  Old  Crony, 
because  I used  to  come  to  him  in  the  field  and 
ollow  him  about.  Sometimes  he  brought  his 
grandfather,  who  always  looked  closely  at  my 
sgs. 

“This  is  our  point,  Willie,”  he  would  say; 
but  he  is  improving  so  steadily  that  I think  we 
hall  see  a change  for  the  better  in  the  spring.” 

The  perfect  rest,  the  good  food,  the  soft 
urf  and  gentle  exercise  soon  began  to  tell  on  my 
ondition  and  my  spirits.  I had  a good  constitu- 
ion  from  my  mother  and  I was  never  strained 
/hen  I was  young,  so  that  I had  a better  chance 
han  many  horses  who  have  been  worked  before 
hey  came  to  their  full  strength. 

During  the  winter  my  legs  improved  so 
luch  that  I began  to  feel  quite  young  again. 


282 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


The  spring  came  around,  and  one  day  in  Marc) 
Mr.  Thoroughgood  determined  that  he  would  tr; 
me  in  the  phaeton.  I was  well  pleased,  and  h 
and  Willie  drove  me  a few  miles.  My  legs  wer 
not  stiff  now,  and  I did  the  work  with  per  fee 
ease. 

“He’s  growing  young,  Willie;  we  must  giv 
him  a little  gentle  work  now,  and  by  midsumme 
he  will  be  as  good  as  Ladybird.  He  has  a beauti 
ful  mouth  and  good  paces;  they  can’t  be  better.5 

“Oh,  Grandpapa,  how  glad  I am  you  bough 
him!” 

“So  am  I,  my  boy;  but  he  has  to  thank  yoi 
more  than  me.  We  must  now  be  looking  out  fo: 
a quiet,  genteel  place  for  him,  where  he  will  b< 
valued.” 


Chapter  XLIX 
MY  LAST  HOME 

DNE  day,  during  this  summer,  the  groom 
cleaned  and  dressed  me  with  such  ex- 
traordinary care  that  I thought  some  new 
hange  must  be  at  hand.  He  trimmed  my 
etlocks  and  legs,  passed  the  tar  brush  over  my 
oofs,  and  even  parted  my  forelock.  I think  the 
arness  had  an  extra  polish.  Willie  seemed 
nxious,  half  merry,  as  he  got  into  the  chaise 
nth  his  grandfather. 

“If  the  ladies  take  to  him,”  said  the  old 
entleman,  “they’ll  be  suited  and  he’ll  be  suited; 
re  can  but  try.” 

At  the  distance  of  a mile  or  two  from  the 
illage  we  came  to  a pretty,  low  house,  with  a 
twn  and  shrubbery  at  the  front  and  a drive  up 
) the  door.  Willie  rang  the  bell  and  asked  if 
liss  Blomefield  or  Miss  Ellen  was  at  home.  Yes, 
iey  were.  So,  while  Willie  stayed  with  me,  Mr. 
'horoughgood  went  into  the  house. 

In  about  ten  minutes  he  returned,  followed 
W three  ladies;  one  tall,  pale  lady,  wrapped  in 
; white  shawl,  leaned  on  a younger  lady,  with 
•ark  eyes  and  a merry  face;  the  other,  a very 

283 


284 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


stately  looking  person,  was  Miss  Blomefield 
They  all  came  and  looked  at  me  and  asked  ques 
tions.  The  young  lady — that  was  Miss  Ellen— 
took  to  me  very  much;  she  said  she  was  sure  sh< 
would  like  me,  as  I had  such  a good  face.  Th< 
tall,  pale  lady  said  she  should  always  be  nervous 
—riding  behind  a horse  that  had  once  beer 
down,  as  I might  come  down  again,  and  if  I die 
she  should  never  get  over  the  fright. 

“You  see,  ladies,”  said  Mr.  Thoroughgood 
“many  first-rate  horses  have  had  their  knees 
broken  through  the  carelessness  of  their  drivers 
without  any  fault  of  their  own,  and  from  what  1 
see  of  this  horse  I should  say  that  is  his  case; 
but,  of  course,  I do  not  wish  to  influence  you.  If 
you  desire,  you  can  have  him  on  trial,  and  then 
your  coachman  will  see  what  he  thinks  of  him.” 
“You  have  always  been  such  a good  adviser 
to  us  about  our  horses,”  said  the  stately  lady, 
“that  your  recommendation  would  go  a long  way 
with  me.  If  my  sister  Lavinia  sees  no  objection, 
we  will  accept  your  offer  of  a trial,  with  thanks.” 
It  was  then  arranged  that  I should  be  sent 
for  the  next  day.  In  the  morning  a smart- 
looking young  man  came  for  me;  at  first  he 
looked  pleased;  but  when  he  saw  my  knees  he 
said,  “I  don’t  think,  sir,  you  should  have  recom- 
mended my  ladies  a blemished  horse  like  that.” 


MY  LAST  HOME 


285 


“ ‘Handsome  is  that  handsome  does/  ” said 
ny  master.  “You  are  only  taking  him  on  trial, 
and  I am  sure  you  will  do  fairly  by  him,  young 
nan.  If  he  is  not  as  safe  as  any  horse  you  ever 
Irove,  send  him  back.” 

I was  led  to  my  new  home,  placed  in  a 
jomfortable  stable,  fed,  and  left  to  myself.  The 
aext  day,  when  my  groom  was  cleaning  my  face, 
le  said,  “That  is  just  like  the  star  that  ‘Black 
Beauty’  had;  he  is  much  the  same  height,  too;  I 
vonder  where  he  is  now?” 

A little  farther  on  he  came  to  the  place  in 
ny  neck  where  I was  bled,  and  where  a little 
mot  was  left  in  the  skin.  He  almost  started,  and 
began  to  look  me  over  carefully,  talking  to 
umselfo 

“White  star  in  the  forehead,  one  white  foot 
>n  the  off  side,  this  little  knot  just  in  that  place.” 
?hen  looking  at  the  middle  of  my  back — “and 
is  I am  alive,  there  is  that  little  patch  of  white 
lair  that  John  used  to  call  ‘Beauty’s  three-penny 
tit.’  It  must  be  ‘Black  Beauty!’  Why,  Beauty! 
leauty!  do  you  know  me?  Little  Joe  Green  that 
Jmost  killed  you?”  And  he  began  patting  and 
tatting  me  as  if  he  was  quite  overjoyed. 

I could  not  say  that  I remembered  him,  for 
iow  he  was  a fine,  grown  fellow,  with  black 
whiskers  and  a man’s  voice,  but  I was  sure  he 


MY  LAST  HOME 


287 


knew  me,  and  that  he  was  Joe  Green.  I was  very 
glad.  I put  my  nose  up  to  him  and  tried  to  say 
that  we  were  friends.  I never  saw  a man  so 
pleased. 

“Give  you  a fair  trial!  I should  think  so 
indeed!  I wonder  who  the  rascal  was  that  broke 
your  knees,  my  old  Beauty!  You  must  have  been 
badly  served  out  somewhere.  Well,  well,  it  won’t 
be  my  fault  if  you  haven’t  good  times  of  it  now. 
I wish  John  Manly  was  here  to  see  you.” 

In  the  afternoon  I was  put  into  a low  Park 
chair  and  brought  to  the  door.  Miss  Ellen  was 
going  to  try  me,  and  Green  went  with  her.  I soon 
found  that  she  was  a good  driver,  and  she 
seemed  pleased  with  my  paces.  I heard  Joe  tell- 
ing her  about  me,  and  that  he  was  sure  I was 
Squire  Gordon’s  old  “Black  Beauty.” 

When  we  returned  the  other  sisters  came 
out  to  hear  how  I had  behaved  myself.  She  told 
them  what  she  had  just  heard,  and  said,  “I  shall 
certainly  write  to  Mrs.  Gordon  and  tell  her  that 
her  favorite  horse  has  come  to  us.  How  pleased 
she  will  be.” 

After  this  I was  driven  every  day  for  a week 
or  so,  and  as  I seemed  quite  safe,  Miss  Lavinia 
at  last  ventured  out  in  a small  close  carriage. 
After  this  it  was  quite  decided  to  keep  me  and 
call  me  by  my  old  name  of  “Black  Beauty.” 


288 


BLACK  BEAUTY 


I have  now  lived  in  this  happy  place  a whol 
year.  Joe  is  the  best  and  kindest  of  grooms 
My  work  is  easy  and  pleasant,  and  I feel  m: 
strength  and  spirits  all  coming  back  again.  Mr 
Thoroughgood  said  to  Joe  the  other  day: 

“In  your  place  he  will  last  till  he  is  twenty 
years  old — perhaps  more.” 

Willie  always  speaks  to  me  when  he  can 
and  treats  me  as  his  special  friend.  My  ladies 
have  promised  that  I shall  never  be  sold,  and  sc 
I have  nothing  to  fear;  and  here  my  story  ends 
My  troubles  are  all  over,  and  I am  at  home;  anc 
often  before  I am  quite  awake,  I fancy  I am  still 
in  the  orchard  at  Birtwick,  standing  with  my  old 
friends  under  the  apple  trees. 


QUESTIONS  FOR  THOUGHT  AND 
DISCUSSION 

chapters  /-// 

What  rules  of  conduct  did  his  mother  give  Black  Beauty 
when  he  was  a little  colt? 

What  did  the  master  do  that  helped  Black  Beauty  to  live 
up  to  these  rules? 

Chapter  III 

j Why  must  horses  be  broken  in? 

What  was  Squire  Gordon’s  idea  about  breaking  in  a horse? 

Why  is  breaking  in  hard  for  a horse  even  under  a kind 
trainer? 

chapters  IV -V 

Which  of  Black  Beauty’s  new  comrades  do  you  like  best? 

Which  of  them  seem  as  well  brought  up  as  Black  Beauty? 

lhapters  VI-VII-VIII 

What  reasons  did  Ginger  give  for  her  bad  temper? 

Compare  Ginger’s  breaking  in  with  Black  Beauty’s.  Why 
does  the  latter  method  bring  the  better  results? 

Why  was  Ginger  justified  in  resenting  the  use  of  a check- 
rein? 

Why  did  Merrylegs  punish  the  boys,  instead  of  excusing 
them  because  they  were  young  and  thoughtless? 

What  do  you  think  of  John’s  cure  for  a vicious  horse? 

hapter  IX 

What  is  your  opinion  of  Sir  Oliver’s  reason  for  not  dock- 
ing horses’  tails  and  not  clipping  dogs’  ears  and  tails? 

Find  out  if  these  practices  are  growing  more  frequent  or 
less  frequent.  Study  the  animals  on  the  street  and 
at  shows  and  fairs. 

I 


289 


QUESTIONS 


290 

Chapter  X 

Why  did  the  horses  object  to  the  use  of  blinkers? 

Do  you  think  their  reasons  were  poor  or  good? 

Is  the  use  of  blinkers  increasing  or  decreasing? 

Chapter  XI 

What  new  arguments  against  the  use  of  the  checkrein  do 
you  find  in  this  chapter?  Are  they  poor  or  good? 

Suppose  an  animal  has  formed  a bad  habit.  Tell  of  a 
method  that  is  better  than  punishment. 

Chapter  XII 

The  newspapers  often  contain  true  stories  of  horses,  and 
even  of  cats  and  dogs,  saving  their  masters’  lives  by 
“sensing”  a danger  of  which  the  master  was  unaware. 
Watch  for  such  stories. 

Chapter  XIII 

Why  was  John  justified  in  telling  Bill’s  father  of  his 
cruelty? 

Chapters  XIV-XV 

What  facts  in  these  chapters,  and  in  the  chapters  before 
these,  prove  that  the  old  hostler  was  right  when  he 
said:  “Give  me  the  handling  of  a horse  for  twenty 
minutes,  and  I’ll  tell  you  what  sort  of  a groom  he 
has  had.” 

Chapter  XVI 

Now  that  you  have  read  this  chapter,  what  do  you  think 
is  the  thing  to  do  to  get  a horse  out  of  a burning 
building? 

How  can  the  horse  be  kept  calm? 

Chapters  XVII-XVIII-XIX 

What  do  these  chapters  teach  you  about  the  care  of  a horse? 

Make  a list  of  the  right  things  to  do  in  caring  for  a horse. 


QUESTIONS 


291 


Chapter  XX 

Can  you  see  why  it  was  a manly  thing  for  Joe  to  report 
the  driver  of  the  cart,  and  to  be  a witness  against  him 
and  to  bring  about  his  punishment? 

Find  out  how  to  get  the  cooperation  of  the  Society  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  or  of  any  other 
society  organized  for  the  same  purpose,  when  you  feel 
the  need  of  assistance  in  putting  a stop  to  cruelty  to 
animals. 

Chapters  XXII-XXIII 

In  what  way  do  these  chapters  prove  the  truth  of  the  story 
Ginger  told  Black  Beauty  when  they  first  met? 

Chapters  XXIV-XXV-XXVI 

What  does  the  story  of  Lady  Anne,  and  the  story  of  Reuben 
bring  to  light? 

Explain  why  a horse  needs  a “good  character”  reference 
just  as  much  as  a person  does. 

i 

Chapters  XXV II -XXV I II -XXIX 

Name  all  the  things  which  Black  Beauty  felt  would  make 
life  easier  for  a work  horse. 

Chapter  XXX 

What  is  the  right  food  for  a horse? 

What  happens  when  his  food  is  not  properly  mixed? 

Chapter  XXXI 

What  are  right  living  conditions  for  a horse?  How  do 
they  differ  from  the  right  living  conditions  for  a dog? 

Who  is  most  dependent  on  his  owner  for  physical  cleanli- 
ness— a horse,  a dog,  or  a cat? 

How  can  a horse  be  kept  clean  and  healthy? 

'■hapter  XXXII 

What  is  the  difference  between  a horse  show  and  a horse 
fair? 


j 


292 


QUESTIONS 


What  is  the  difference  between  the  horses  that  appear  & 
the  show  and  those  that  are  shown  at  the  fair? 

Chapter  XXXIII 

What  good  suggestions  about  the  care  of  horses  do  you  fine 
in  this  chapter?  Would  they  be  useful  in  the  care  o: 
a dog  or  a cat? 

Chapter  XXXIV 

What  impressed  you  most  in  Captain’s  story? 

Chapters  XXXV-XXXVI 

What  do  you  think  of  Jerry’s  idea  that  horses  as  well  as 
drivers  should  rest  one  day  in  seven? 

Chapter  XXXVII 

Why  did  Black  Beauty  not  mind  losing  his  day  of  rest? 

Chapter  XXXVIII 

Do  you  agree  or  disagree  with  the  gentleman’s  statemenl 
that  “if  we  see  cruelty  or  wrong  that  we  have  the 
power  to  stop,  and  do  nothing,  we  make  ourselves 
sharers  in  the  guilt”?  Give  reasons  for  your  answer, 

Chapter  XXXIX 

What  is  your  feeling  about  Seedy  Sam?  Give  reasons  for 
your  answer. 

Chapter  XL 

Who  was  to  blame  for  the  misfortunes  that  befell  Ginger? 

Chapters  XLI-XLII-XLIII 

Make  a list  of  the  things  which  the  butcher’s  boy  thought 
his  customers  could  do  to  make  the  life  of  a horse 
easier. 

Add  to  the  list  anything  which  you  think  customers  could 
do  to  improve  the  lot  of  the  horse  and  his  driver. 

Chapter  XLIV 

Why  did  Hotspur  run  away? 

Why  did  he  not  regret  becoming  a cab  horse? 


QUESTIONS 


293 


Chapter  XLV 

What  impresses  you  most  in  this  chapter? 
chapters  XLV  I -XLV II 

Make  a list  of  little  things  that  people  can  do  to  make  a 
horse’s  life  easier. 

Chapters  XLVIII-XLIX 

Did  Black  Beauty  deserve  the  fate  that  befell  him? 

Why  was  he  able  to  stand  so  much  hardship  and  sadness? 
What  are  the  qualities  of  a good  horse? 

Build  up  a list  of  good  qualities  that  a driver  should  have. 


GLOSSARY 


Page  2,  line  16 — Newmarket:  a town  in  Suffolk,  England,  where 
horse  races  are  held  in  April,  May,  July,  Septem- 
ber, and  October;  1500  to  2000  horses  are  usually 
trained  there. 

Page  3,  line  11 — gig:  (gig),  a light  two- wheeled  one-horse  carriage. 

Page  8,  line  19 — farrier:  (far'i-er),  one  who  shoes  a horse;  a veteri- 
narian; a non-commissioned  officer  in  charge  of 
the  army  horses. 

Page  11,  line  4 — chaise:  (shaz),  pleasure  or  traveling  carriage, 
usually  low,  four-wheeled  open,  with  one  or  two 
ponies. 

Page  11,  line  18 — bit:  (bit),  the  mouthpiece  of  a bridle. 

Page  16,  line  20 — paddock:  (pad'uk),  a stable  yard  where  horses  are 
exercised;  a small  field  for  pasture. 

Page  26,  line  6 — cob:  (kob),  a stout,  short-legged  riding  horse. 

Page  39,  line  13 — Tattersall’s : a market  where  horses  were  auctioned 
off.  It  was  set  up  in  1766  by  Richard  Tattersall, 
an  auctioneer  in  horses. 

Page  43,  line  1 — vicar:  (vik'er),  a clergyman. 

Page  49,  line  4 — hand:  a unit  used  in  measuring  a horse.  In  our 
vernacular  it  is  equal  to  four  inches  or  the  sup- 
posed width  of  a palm. 

Page  50,  line  12 — gag  bit:  (gag'  bit),  a specially  powerful  bit  used  in 
horse  breaking. 

Page  60,  line  27 — brake:  (brak),  a kind  of  small  four-wheeled  pleasure 
wagon. 

Page  63,  line  3 — dogcart:  (dog'kart),  a two-wheeled  cart  with  cross 
seats  back  to  back. 

295 


GLOSSARY 


296 

Page  77,  line  22 — the  box:  (boks),  the  driver’s  seat:  so  called  from 
the  box  under  it. 

Page  79,  line  1 — hostler:  (hosier),  one  who  takes  care  of  horses  at 
an  inn  or  stable. 

Page  81,  line  6 — Goodwood:  a famous  English  racetrack. 

Page  117,  line  3 — vicarage:  (vik'er-&j),  home  of  a vicar  or  a minister. 

Page  123,  line  16 — terret:  (ter'et),  a loop  or  ring  on  a harness  pad  for 
driving  reins  to  pass  through. 

Page  138,  line  24 — brougham:  (broo'um,  broom  or  bro'hm),  a one- 
horse  closed  carriage. 

Page  146,  line  5 — caustic:  (kos'tik),  a substance  which  bums. 

Page  148,  line  2 — steeplechase:  (ste'pl-chas"),  a cross-country  horse 
race. 

Page  149,  line  11 — Bath:  (bath),  a town  in  England,  noted  for  its  hot 
springs. 

Page  154,  line  28 — frog  of  the  foot:  the  elastic  homy  substance  in  the 
middle  of  the  sole  of  a horse’s  hoof. 

Page  158,  line  1 — cockneys:  (kok'niz),  one  born  within  sound  of  the 
bells  of  Bow  Church,  Cheapside,  London;  a Lon- 
doner; a native  of  London  living  in  the  East  End 
and  having  a certain  characteristic  dialect. 

Page  183,  line  22 — Crimean  War:  the  conflict  of  1854-56  between 
Russia  on  the  one  side,  and  Turkey,  France, 
England,  and  Sardinia  on  the  other.  It  was 
fought  in  the  Crimea,  a peninsula  in  Southern 
Russia. 

Page  184,  line  28 — snaffle:  (snaf'l),  a horse’s  bit. 

Page  185,  line  14 — rank:  (rangk),  a row  of  cabs,  standing  in  line. 

Page  202,  line  2 — Cheapside : a street  in  London. 

Page  221,  line  27 — Clapham  Rise:  a section  of  London. 


GLOSSARY 


29? 


Page  235,  line  3 — St.  John’s  Wood:  a section  of  London. 

Page  237,  line  8 — coster  boy:  (kbs'ter  boi),  a boy  who  peddled  vege- 
tables. 

Page  253,  line  27 — martingale:  (mar'tin-gal),  a strap  in  a horse’s  har- 
ness, connecting  the  bridle  or  reins  to  the  breast 
strap  or  girth,  to  keep  the  horse’s  head  down. 

Page  254,  line  23 — guinea:  (gin'i),  a British  money  value  equal  to  21 
shillings. 

Page  270,  line  5 — purblind:  (pur'blind"),  almost  blind;  seeing  dimly. 


